


Bittersweet

by sariane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Defying Fate, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Relationship Negotiation, Soul Bond, Tony Has Issues, Trope Study, relationships are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 50,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Tony felt bare skin beneath his, the warmth of Steve's callused fingers – warmth that fused them together.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"No,” Tony choked out.</i>
</p><p>Fate is cruel. When Steve and Tony accidentally make skin-to-skin contact, it decides that they are soulmates and sparks a Bond between them. Tony decides differently. Without a way to reverse it, Tony must deal with the consequences of the Bond and how it affects his life, his relationship with Bruce, the Avengers, and most importantly, Steve…Whether he likes it or not.</p><p>It's not easy, but this is Tony's life. Nothing ever is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic requires some explanation. I've always been critical of the idea of "soulmates," and it fascinated me when I began to see soulmate/soulbond fics pop up online. This story grew from my curiosity on how a society with soulbonds would be, and how it would affect people. At its core, this a story about the characters I love working through issues and fumbling through relationships.
> 
> Thanks to [sailorcarson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorcarson) for listening to me complain about this thing and A for the discussion. Many, many thanks to [Izzyv1o](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyv1o/pseuds/Izzyv1o) for the beta.
> 
> This story is set a time after The Avengers, and contains spoilers for all of the released movies through Iron Man 3. From that point, it diverges from canon. It contains some elements borrowed from the comics and cameos from other Marvel movies, but knowledge outside of the MCU is unnecessary.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> -The entire concept of this story is that two people are bonded without their desire and consent. The story details how they deal with it. The characters feel the emotions, sexual arousal, pain, and distress of each other, and this often has unwanted side effects. Please be aware of your own self-care; if any of these ideas bother you, this may not be the story for you.  
> -Alcohol abuse, discussion of alcoholism.  
> -Canon-typical violence.  
> -Construed infidelity. (Spoilers: Two characters share feelings of sexual arousal, resulting in fantasies and masturbation; one character is in a committed relationship with another character, to which the issue is later voiced, addressed, and resolved. There is no physical infidelity.)  
> -Discussion of semi-canonical character death: in this fic, Coulson died on the Helicarrier and remained dead (effectively ignoring Agents of SHIELD).  
> -Explicit sex.  
> -Portrayal and discussion of PTSD and anxiety disorders.  
> -Swearing.  
> -Vivid nightmare sequences.
> 
> Please, don't hesitate to contact me if you have any questions regarding the warnings. I have tried to include everything, but please let me know if I have inadvertently missed something.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my fic!

"Stark?"

Tony blinked the black spots out of his vision and looked up, wondering where the hell he was. There was a blast off in the distance, not too far away, actually, and he blinked a few more times and sat up abruptly.

_Right. Battle._

"Stark, are you okay?" he heard again, and looked up to see Steve Rogers standing over him. Tony wondered how he could miss the guy in his bright, ridiculous costume (although it seemed pretty torn up -- Tony made a mental note to look into whatever material SHIELD was using and fix it) and the stick-up-ass expression Cap always seemed to wear. Looking down, he wondered what happened to his gauntlet…or half the plating on his right side. It probably had something to do with the robot accompanying him in the small crater.

"Yeah, Cap," he said, mentally adding _possible concussion_ to the top of his list of injuries. He brought the faceplate up for a breath of fresh air and inhaled a lungful of smoke instead. Tony let out a barking cough.

"Come on," Rogers said, holding out his hand to help Tony to his feet. Tony took it.

"Fuck," he swore as their skin made contact.

Tony felt bare skin and the warmth of Steve’s callused fingers – warmth that fused them together.

"No,” Tony choked out. “ _Fuck, no.”_

Steve had a strange expression on his face. He stared at their fingers, their hands, the way his palm slid over Tony's and Tony -- Tony couldn't let go.

It was as though someone had plunged a hand into his chest (a hand, Tony thought, not a metal claw) and tied it to something. Steve. The sudden influx of emotion, of _feeling_ , was even more startling.

Fear. Shock. Resentment. Concern. Anger. And, most surprisingly of all, relief.

Tony couldn't tell which emotions were his and which belonged to Steve.

"We don't have time for this," Steve gritted out through his teeth. He wrenched his hand out of Tony's. The sudden lack of contact was almost as startling as the Bond in the first place. Almost. Tony felt a weight settle into his chest. He had Bonded. To Captain America of all people, the pretentious asshole.

For once, Tony was left speechless.

"Can you fight?" Steve asked, but Tony was paralyzed, frozen, his mind strangely blank except for the waves coming in at him. Steve. Steve needed him, needed his head in the game, needed him in the here and now and -- "T -- Stark," Steve grit out, reaching forward to grab his forearm and properly haul him out of the hole in the cement street. Tony longed to pull the remaining plates and underarmor away, to let Steve touch his arm, his skin, but he stopped himself. "You alright?" he asked, and Tony could _taste_ his concern.

"Yeah," Tony said, forcing his voice into something resembling its normal tone. "I'm fine."

Steve knew it was a lie, he had to, but he just nodded and forcefully pulled his arm away from Tony. He took a step away, back towards the battle, and then stopped.

"Stay by me," he said quietly.

Tony nodded. "Of course."

*

The Iron Man helmet made a satisfying _crash!_ as it bounced across the workshop, skidding over concrete and stopping when it bumped into the leg of Tony's workbench. Tony resisted the urge to command the entire armor to fly off. It was too damaged for that. He’d have to take a look at the schematics again, rewire a few things. He ripped off another piece, the rest of the plate that covered his right arm, and let the metal fall to the floor with a clang.

Tony kicked the plating so that it would skid into the helmet, but instead it flew through the workshop with the sheer force of his kick. It hit the ceiling and took out a fluorescent light with a bang and a shower of sparks before it hit the floor. It bounced out of sight underneath a table.

"Damn it," he swore, looking up at the sparks flying out of the light. Tony nearly collapsed into a chair before he realized he was still wearing the suit. With a sigh, he let the majority of the armor fall to the ground with a loud clatter; save for a few pieces, which he had to pry apart carefully with a pair of needle-nose pliers.

They'd won the fight, but at no small cost. He thought back to the buildings ruined, the lives they hadn't quite been able to save. He'd been hesitant to take flight, to stray away from Steve, and it had cost them.

The look on Romanoff's face after the fight, when the baddie (an evil alien robot overlord, because this was Tony's life) had been incinerated and they'd met up for a headcount. Barton had been knocked out briefly and probably had a concussion, Romanoff had at least a bloody lip, and Thor actually seemed tired. Steve – Rogers was bleeding, his uniform shredded in places, and he was exhausted. But not discouraged. He was full of hope, of course – and confusion, which Tony had felt radiating off him in waves.

Tony had ignored Rogers and walked over to Hulk, who snorted once, sending dust flying, and pointed at Tony once.

"Hey, big guy, how's it hanging?" he asked, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. Hulk didn't say a word, but he lowered his head to get a better look at Tony. Tony stared into his big, green eyes unflinchingly. "I'm fine," he said. "Hey, we're done here, so do you want to take a break for awhile and let Bruce take over?"

The Hulk snorted again, and then slowly began to shrink as he transformed back into Bruce.

"Hey," Tony said in a hushed voice, catching Bruce before he could fall onto the concrete. A passing paramedic tried to hand him a blanket, but Tony flinched back, his exposed hand and fingers wavering in the air. Bruce reached out and accepted the blanket from the confused paramedic. Tony wrapped it around Bruce's shoulders and ignored the fond smile Bruce sent him.

"Hey," he said again, wrapping his hands underneath Bruce's arms and keeping him upright. "You alright?"

"M'tired," Bruce muttered into Tony's ear, "you okay?” Surreptitiously, Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead before moving to throw an arm -- the one that had lost the armor -- around Bruce to help him walk.

Barton, who had regained consciousness some time ago, helped him bundle Bruce into the back of a SHIELD car and slid in alongside him. Romanoff patted Tony on the elbow.

"See you later," she said before she slammed the car door shut behind her. “Good luck." Tony watched the car drive off towards the Tower before he turned. He was left alone on the battleground with Steve, the others flown away or driving off.

Steve was caught in conversation with a few firemen. He turned when he caught Tony’s gaze on him and cut them off in favor of walking towards Tony.

Tony could read the purpose in his steps, the thoughts of dread mingling with duty and some strangled sense of affection, and felt Steve's bone-tiredness as he walked up to Tony.

"Stark," Steve said gruffly. Tony swallowed.

"Fury doesn't want us for a debrief, does he?" Tony forced himself to ask. "Because all I can think of now is a shower."

"We don't work for SHIELD anymore," Steve said, and then he paused. "Is everyone else going back to the Tower?" he asked haltingly.

"Natasha and Clint are taking Bruce," Tony said, "but they’ll go back to their apartments. Thor will, though." He paused. "You can hang out for awhile, if you want. Thor makes pancakes now, he's a great cook." Tony swallowed, feeling grit in his mouth and tasting smoke from fires and explosions. His throat felt raw.

"Sure," Steve said with forced casualness, "I'll call up a ride--"

"I'll fly you," Tony volunteered without really thinking about it. All he could think about was Steve, how right it felt to be close to him, how right it was to fight alongside him.

"Sure," Steve replied all too quickly.

There was barely a minute's flight between the wreckage of the fight and the Tower, but it was hell. Steve was heavy in Tony's arms, even with the suit. Tony wanted nothing more than to shed the armor and just _touch_ him, press his fingers to the tattered skin through the rips in Steve's suit. Steve was heavy and warm, a stone that made Tony feel like he was going to sink in the air, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, he landed on his helipad at Avengers Tower.

He set Steve down. Steve looked away, seeming oddly shaken.

Tony ignored his bots and waved them away as they moved to pull the armor off. He didn't need them anymore, but he couldn't take off the armor now. Not here. Not when Steve -- Tony swallowed, looking away from Steve and down at his boots as they clanged across the landing pad that jutted out of the Tower.

"I should check on Bruce," he said, "you remember where you room is, right?"

He didn't wait for Steve’s answer. He could feel it.

That’s how Tony ended up alone in his workshop, pieces of his armor at his feet as he keeled over and vomited onto the ground, his body betraying him. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, because Steve was floors away and that was too much space, too much feeling, too much -- Tony closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, acid flaying his throat and a horribly sour taste in his mouth. Steve was upstairs, in his room, probably showering away the sweat of battle. Tony imagined him in his steamed up bathroom, shining with sweat, the water dripping off him in rivulets and running down his chest --

Tony leaned forward again and heaved.

He tried to think of anything but Steve. He thought of his armor, the repairs he'd have to do, the rewiring and planning to make sure that entire portions wouldn't die if he took another hit like that. Maybe if he focused less on sending power to the gauntlets and more on distributing it throughout the arm…

Tony was bent over his desk, scribbling notes about upgrades onto a coffee-stained napkin when another wave of nausea hit.

He didn't heave this time, just kneeled halfway under his desk, his knuckles white on the edge as he took deep breaths and tried to gain control of his body.

But he'd lost that control, Tony thought, when fate had Bonded him to Steve Rogers.

Stubbornly, although he felt like his guts were on fire, Tony got to his feet. There was a bathroom and a shower just off his workshop, of course, and he was sure he had a robot for cleanup. Heaven knew how many times he'd drunkenly puked in the Tower before.

The shower scalded him when he got in, but Tony didn't turn it down. It felt good to wash away the sweat and dirt of battle, to let the water run over his skin. He would stand under the spray all day, that is, if he hadn’t remembered Bruce.

Bruce would be heading upstairs if he wasn't already, up to their room. Bruce was like putty after a good battle, soft and yielding in Tony’s arms. Tony smiled to himself as he turned off the shower and quickly toweled off.

He wondered if Steve could tell he was thinking of Bruce.

Tony stopped in front of the mirror and braced a hand on the edge of the sink. He took a deep breath, feeling another wave of nausea threaten to overcome him, and reached for the toothbrush he always kept down here. He squeezed some toothpaste onto it and stuck it into his mouth before he could vomit again, the sharp mint taste overwhelming him and setting his feet back onto the ground. He was okay. He was fine. He was going to go upstairs and talk to Bruce, and then this would all be fine.

As the steam in the room began to fade, Tony looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was dark, almost black from the water of the shower. His chest was still covered in scars, but the skin in the center of his chest -- where he sometimes felt the ghost of his arc reactor – was smooth and clear.

Tony covered that part of his chest with the palm of his hand and closed his eyes. Sometimes Bruce would trace it in wordless wonder, and Tony would pull his hand up and hold it there, smile down at him. Tony opened his eyes and sighed again, a shaky sigh that made him feel angry at himself.

_So what?_ he thought, i _t's just a Bond. They happen all the time. We'll deal with it. We'll get over it._

"You're Tony fucking Stark," he told his reflection in the mirror, letting his towel drop so he could point at his face. "You don't cower in the face of adversity. You fuck shit up. And you're going to go upstairs and face Bruce Banner like a man." He paused.

"Also, Captain America is a fucking _asshole_."

*

Tony shut the door to his bedroom behind him and leaned against it with a sigh. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands and took a deep breath.

The sounds of the shower filtered through the cracked bathroom door. Tony could smell steam and a hint of soap -- a tangy, clean scent that reminded Tony of mint and shaving cream -- that always made him think of Bruce. The air was warm from the open bathroom door, and he was tempted to slip inside and shed his clothes, to surprise Bruce, stand under the water with him and let the steam untie the knots from his back.

He heard the shower stop, foiling his plans. Tony opened his eyes.

He was changing into cleaner clothes when Bruce emerged from the bathroom door. He was still a little wet, his hair dark black, his gray hairs almost blended in with the rest. He and Tony met eyes, and Bruce allowed a smile to shine through his exhaustion. He let the towel drop as he rummaged through their drawers for clothes.

Tony sat on the edge of their bed and watched him quietly for a moment, staring at the strong, firm lines of Bruce's back and shoulders as he dressed. It took him another minute before he became aware of the silence bearing down upon them.

"You tired?" Tony asked, then backtracked. "Nah, of course you are. You did the whole…Hulk out thing. A lot of smashing. Some very fine smashing, I'd say, some of your best. Smashing smashing." He realized he was talking nonsense, but Tony didn't care. The smell of soap was finally fading from the air, leaving it empty, ready to be filled with words that Tony wasn't quite ready to say yet.

"Someone sounds a little more tired than me," Bruce said as he pulled a gray t-shirt over his head. Tony vaguely wondered if it was his t-shirt or Bruce's. It was easy to lose track of things like that.

"Who, me?" Tony flopped back onto the bed and spoke to the ceiling. "I am never tired. I'm always awake. I just might have a little too much blood in my caffeine system, that's all."

"I’m not sure it's called the caffeine system, actually." Bruce smiled at Tony as he crawled onto the bed next to him, rolling onto his side. He pressed his cheek into the white comforter and looked over at Tony.

Tony looked away before they could make eye contact, choosing to roll over to pick at a loose thread.

"No, no, it is," Tony said, twisting at the thread and pulling at the overexpensive soft fabric of the comforter. It smelled like detergent and Bruce's soap. "I know this because -- because science." He lifted his hand to wave it in the air as punctuation.

"You know this because _science_ ," Bruce repeated, his smile piercing his voice now. He let his hand cover Tony's frantic one, grounding it, and leaned forward to kiss Tony.

“Have you been drinking?” Bruce asked, pulling away with a slight wrinkle between his eyes.

“I had a drink when I got in,” Tony shrugged, “after the fight. I promise.”

Bruce hesitated, but he licked his lips and leaned in for another kiss.

He tasted like toothpaste, in an I-scrubbed-my-mouth-five-times-to-get-Hulk-taste-out kind of way. Their lips met hungrily, Bruce's fingers freeing themselves from his hand to dig into Tony's scalp. He could tell that some sweat and dirt still clung stubbornly to the roots of his hair, but Bruce didn't care. He pressed forward harder, his chin pressing into Tony's, and rolled their bodies closer to press together. Tony leaned even closer to tangle their legs together and press his hand to Bruce's back. It was strong and hot underneath his hand and the thin fabric of the gray t-shirt. He let his hand wander lower to squeeze Bruce's ass, and stopped when Bruce chuckled.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, pressing his face into the crook of Tony's neck to kiss his collarbone. Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath of Bruce's hair -- smelling his minty shampoo and soap, with a hint of dust and rubble that he never quite got out -- before he pulled away. "Tony?" Bruce asked; face falling with apparent concern when he caught the look on Tony's face. Tony winced when he thought about how that felt -- how concern felt, when it was directed at you.

Tony took a shallow breath.

"On a scale of one to ten," he said, "how angry are you with me for today?"

Bruce took a few seconds to answer. Tony watched him from inches away on the bed; Bruce stared into space, licked his lips, and retreated inwards for a moment.

"Six," he answered firmly a moment later, eyes whirring back from some invisible point to Tony's. "You -- when you were hit -- when you went flying out of sight --" he stopped and took a deep breath.

"Right," Tony said, nodding once. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, folding his knees up to his chest. "About that. We should talk. About what happened then."

"When Cap went to get you," Bruce said. He sat up as well, folding his legs into lotus position as he always did. "Were you okay? Do you need to talk about it?"

"Uh," Tony said, feeling so helplessly speechless. He wanted, for the first time, more than anything, to be able to take Bruce's hand in his own and tell him how he was feeling without saying a thing. But he couldn't. "Not exactly." Tony opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Bruce patiently stayed quiet, watching and waiting.

"Bruce," Tony said, "you know, if you need space --"

"I'll let you know."

"Good, because -- because -- actually, I'm going to need the space, sorry," Tony said, whirling off the bed. He paced across the floor of his bedroom, his bare feet against the carpet, trying to formulate the words. "When I fell. I was fine, I'm fine, don't worry, but you know that St -- Cap came to help me. And I was torn up, the suit was torn up, and he helped me, and," Tony sighed and threw up his hands, "we kind of Bonded."

There was only a moment of stillness before Tony turned away from Bruce and went back to his frantic pacing. He couldn't look at him, not even to check that he wasn't turning green, because Bruce wasn't going to be angry, he knew it. Bruce never got angry at Tony for things that actually _were_ his fault -- things like this. It was always about leaving his dirty socks lying around, or thinking he could buy his way out of everything, or diving in front of a giant robot pelting towards the Hulk in a middle of a fight. Those things weren't choices, they were instinctual.

_This_ was just Tony being sloppy.

"Tony," Bruce said, stopping Tony suddenly with his hands on Tony's shoulders. "Stop. Thinking."

Tony didn't stop thinking, of course, but it was enough to shake him from his thoughts for a moment.

"I'm not angry with you," Bruce said, because of course he wasn't. "Or Steve. So just, breathe for a moment and sit down and stop panicking, or else I'm going to have to call Pepper again, and she'll find this situation absolutely hilarious."

"Oh god, we'll have to tell Pepper, won't we," Tony said faintly as he allowed Bruce to lead him to the bed and sit him down gently. He retreated as soon as Tony was settled with his back resting against the headboard, replacing Tony in his pacing in the middle of the room. "And Steve and I -- Rogers and I, we're going to have to talk. And we'll have to tell the team. And Fury will have to know, and then he'll want me to leave the team --"

"You're getting ahead of yourself, there," Bruce interrupted him. Tony made eye contact with him again, finally. There wasn't any green in his eyes, just sorrow. He looked…lost, Tony supposed, with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown set into his features. "What happened? How did you -- how have you never touched each other before?" he asked a little incredulously. “Shouldn’t you have Bonded before?”

"He doesn't live here, not like you and Thor," Tony said, because Natasha and Clint didn't use their rooms enough to count. He wasn’t sure that Steve even had. "And, you know me; I don't touch a lot of people." He’d never been fond of it. "He's always in costume when I see him," Tony said, "we rarely shake hands, and when we do we're suited up."

"Then, today, how did that change?"

"I got stupid, I was sloppy; my gauntlet was missing. And his glove was ripped to shreds. He couldn't have known -- I should have been more careful, I never thought that he--"

"Do you honestly think this is about you Bonding with Steve?" Bruce asked, raising his voice a little. "I'm not angry with you for that," he said, turning away to pace back and forth. Tony knew he was lying.

"Then, what _are_ you angry about?" Tony asked in frustration.

“I’m angry that this had to happen to you when you don’t want it,” Bruce said, throwing his arms out as he paced, turning on his heel sharply as he made it to each end of the room. “You have to deal with this now, whether you like it or not. You have to feel something whenever Steve walks into a room, have to feel what he’s feeling, know what he’s thinking. That, if this ever leaks to the media, they’ll never leave you alone. The fact that you have no choice in this, that’s what makes me angry.” Bruce stopped. “If you had chosen to Bond with Steve,” he said slowly, “that would be fine. Except you didn’t. And it just—“ Bruce cut himself off and let out a low growl that would sound ridiculous if the noise had been made by anyone but him.

"Bruce," Tony sat forward on the bed, but he didn't move to get up, or take another move towards Bruce. "It's okay. We can go downstairs if you want; you can take a break in Hulk's room if you need to let the Other Guy out for--"

"Not now," Bruce grit out. He turned away from Tony and took a few deep breaths, staring at the door to his bedroom. Tony willed himself to stay silent as he stared at Bruce's back.

This was all his damn fault, Tony thought, his fault for being so stupid, so careless, so --

"Where's Steve?" Bruce asked suddenly. The question would raise red flags if Tony didn't recognize the control Bruce forced into his voice.

"He didn't want to go home," Tony answered after a few moments, not saying the words: _I didn't_ want _him to go home_. "He's in his room, for once." Two floors down, pacing the floor like Bruce had just moments ago, thinking -- no, Tony thought, _focus_.

"I want you to go talk to him," Bruce said. "I'm going to go for a walk." He turned to grab for his jacket and keys, and Tony didn't move from the bed as Bruce slipped into his shoes.

"Want me to call Happy to give you a ride?" he offered, but Bruce shook his head. He opened the door and Tony looked down at his kneecaps.

"Tony," Bruce said, reminding him that he was still in the doorway, waiting for something. Tony wasn't sure what. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice free of rage and full of the compassion that still surprised Tony every time.

"Uh, yeah," Tony answered, unsure. "I think so."

"Talk to him," Bruce said again. "Before we talk again. You need to talk to him."

He moved to close the door behind him, keys jingling in his other hand.

"Hey, tell Barton I say hi," Tony called out in the hallway before Bruce shut the door. Tony lay back on the bed and closed his eyes to block out the world for a moment.

*

"Tony?"

The knocking at his door didn't stop when Tony rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head to muffle out the sound.

"Tony, I know you're in there." More knocking. "Look, I understand why you're avoiding this, but--"

"Come in," he called, and the lock on the door clicked a moment before Steve pushed it open. Tony didn't remove the pillow from his face, but he could still feel Steve's gaze on him. The trepidation he felt, the hurt, the _anger_ … Tony just wasn't sure who Steve was angry with, or if that anger was his own.

He listened to Steve's shoes pad across the carpet.

"Actually, I've changed my mind," Tony said, feeling Steve's glare like a heat lamp. "You can go away."

"You haven't changed your mind," Steve said plainly. "You're just scared." He pulled the pillow out of Tony's grip. Tony blinked up at Steve from the bed, glowering, but his sight couldn't help but soften at the sight of Steve clutching Tony's pillow to his chest.

"Please," Tony scoffed, "I've faced down gods, and space aliens, and Natasha before her morning coffee. I'm not scared of _you_." He narrowed his eyes and glared at Steve, as if that would prevent him from knowing Tony was lying.

Steve just looked at Tony for a long moment. Tony could feel his skepticism.

"Jesus, this is creepy," Tony said, "At least sit down or -- or -- or something," he stuttered as Steve sat down next to him in unison with Tony’s command. He still clutched the pillow awkwardly.

"Bruce--" Steve started.

"Pretty sure he went to Barton’s," Tony said, "as he does."

"You told him," Steve said, and it wasn't a question.

"Yeah, and why shouldn't I?" Tony said defensively. " _He_ is my, y’know, and he deserves to know, I'm not apologizing for that."

"I'm not asking you to," Steve said levelly. "I'm just wondering. Does this mean we're telling people? Before we've even talked about this ourselves?"

"Uh, excuse me," Tony crossed his arms over his chest, "I haven't exactly had the chance to sit down with you and have a face-to-face chat--"

"But you didn't exactly come running down to my door, now, did you?" Steve interrupted.

"No, I was making sure Bruce was alright! Is that a crime now, to care?"

"You make it out to be," Steve sneered, "you always do, and you're doing it now."

"Let's get this straight, then, loverboy, I never said I cared for you," Tony spat, pointing his index finger in Steve's face. " _Caring_ has nothing to do with this! I never asked for this, I didn't want this--"

"And you think I did?"

"--And I sure as hell don't care a whit about you, so get that thought out of your head before you continue any further."

Steve didn't reply verbally, but he threw the pillow back onto the bed. He got to his feet, heat and anger radiating off him in waves, and began to walk away. He only made it a few paces before he stopped with his back to Tony. His chest heaved. A muscle tightened in Tony's jaw as he glared at Steve, willing him to leave, but not _wanting_ him to. Fighting or not, something felt good about Steve being there. He felt…whole.

"You think this is easy for me, Stark?" Steve said, turning his head a little to look at Tony. "You think I wanted this, too? You think I wanted my feelings torn away from me? Stop with the 'oh, poor little me,' because we're in this together, like it or not, and you don't have to be an asshole about it."

Tony jumped to his feet and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder to whirl him around. Steve clamped his hand over Tony's and turned with a snarl on his face, ready to block a punch if Tony was going to start throwing them. And he wanted to, _oh_ , he would have _loved_ to spit in Steve's face or smash his fist into Steve's nose, but he stopped himself.

"I think I have every right to be an asshole about it," he said, "sorry for raining on your little dream of a white picket fence and a Bond with a blonde, but I didn't fucking _ask_ for you to walk into my life. Want me to appeal? Want me to call down whichever one of Thor's friends thought it would be cool to bestow the gift of soulbonding onto the peoples of the Earth? Because I will, you better believe me, because I did not plan on finding out that Uncle Sam is my fucking _soulmate._ "

"Okay," Steve said, mouth compressed into a thin line, "act like _you're_ the one stuck with a bad deal. And heaven forbid the great Tony Stark actually _feel_ something for once in his life."

Tony stalked away from him and wrenched the door open.

"Get out," he spat. Steve didn't even try to hold his ground; he stomped to Tony with his jaw held firm and somehow managed to keep his pride intact even as Tony kicked him out.

"Understand this, Stark," Steve said as he stopped in front of Tony, poking his finger into Tony's chest where the arc reactor had once been, the touch sparking like he'd just shocked Tony with static electricity. "I didn't ask for this any more than you did. I don’t want this."

“Then get the hell away from me,” Tony yelled, slamming the door in Steve’s face.

It shut with a loud slam that echoed in Tony's ears in the ensuing silence.

Tony leaned forwards, braced his hands on the rich brown wood of the door, and took a slow breath -- like Bruce had tried and failed to teach him for when he needed to calm down. Tony collapsed with his back against the door and slid down it. He rested his head against the wood with a dull thud and closed his eyes.

"Great," he muttered to himself, "you are just full of brilliant ideas today."

The door was thankfully too thick, too soundproof for his words to carry; unfortunately, he also couldn't tell if Steve was still out there or not, and Tony hadn't quite figured out how to track his Bondmate through sense alone yet.

Time passed slowly as Tony sat there. His ass went numb, but he didn't move, wishing his mind could go numb as well. He considered getting up to get a drink, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Tony pressed his hand over his chest, still half-expecting to feel metal and glass and machine, but all he could feel was skin. He wished there was still a hole in his chest, wished that he could reach inside himself and undo the knot that had tied him to Steve Rogers.

_This is my fucking fault,_ Tony thought to himself, _I had to take his hand. I had to think that, just once, something good could come from someone helping me._

The knock that interrupted his thoughts was firm enough that it registered inside Tony's skull, his head still propped against the door.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

He immediately wrenched a hand up to turn the doorknob and open it a crack, but didn't bother standing up.

"What?" Tony snapped, looking out through the two inches between door and doorframe, and was met with a sliver of Steve's face staring at him at his eye level. He resisted the urge to jump back.

"This isn't going to go away if we just ignore it," Steve said, obviously halfway through some kind of internal argument with himself.

"If only it were that easy," Tony muttered.

"You know what, Stark?" Steve said sharply, continuing over Tony's sarcastic, " _What_?" to say, "You don't want to talk. Fine." He paused and met Tony's eye. There was fire in his own. "But you’re going to have to get your head out of your ass if you want us to stay on this team --" _together_ , Tony heard in Steve's pause, "-- and we're going to have to work something out."

"Fine," Tony said. "Talk." Steve sighed. The sliver of his face disappeared as he leaned against the wall on the other side of the door, his back to Tony's with only the wall between them. He took a deep breath and, when he was ready, began to talk.

"They used to have Bonding parties during the war," he said, voice carrying through the cracked open door. "In dance halls. Here…in cities with soldiers and enough dames – uh, men and women with time on their hands. The girls would take off their gloves; the boys would ask them to dance. They’d dance together, 'till halfway through the song, they'd line up. Girls on one side, boys on the other, and they'd brush hands as they passed. If you were lucky enough to find a Bond," he paused, "well, then I guess you'd found a new partner."

"I thought Bonds were a little too rare for that," Tony said skeptically.

"There were rumors," Steve said offhandedly. "I think people liked the idea more so than they believed it." He quieted.

"Sounds like a bunch of romantic bullshit to me," Tony said to fill the silence that followed. "But I bet you had all the girls batting their eyelashes at you to ask them--"

"I never asked anyone," Steve interrupted. "I was -- you've seen the pictures." Part of Tony wanted to tell him he was wrong, but the more dominant part of him squashed the idea before it could take full fruition.

"I never pegged you for the cowardly type," Tony said carelessly instead.

"And I never thought I'd be Bonded to the most stubborn, conceited man in existence," Steve snapped right back.

"You're wrong," Tony replied, "Barton’s the most conceited man in existence."

To his surprise, Steve laughed, the sound bounding off the walls in the hallway and into the room with Tony. He wanted to shut the door and lock the laughter in with him, encase this moment, because it was easier than picking up where they'd left off.

"I wore gloves through college," Tony blurted out before Steve had even stopped laughing, surprising even himself.

"I thought that became taboo, after the war," Steve said curiously.

"Not if you're rich," Tony replied with dark humor in his voice. "Not if you're Tony Stark."

"So you never hoped--"

"I was in my teens, I was getting drunk every other night, I barely even went to class --"

"Don't you have a doctorate?" Steve asked.

"Four, I think," Tony said, then paused. "Five? Maybe six." He waved a hand in the air absently. "Anyways, it was dumb to me. Someone coming into your life and changing it overnight, changing the way you think, the way you feel, it's a --" Tony paused to clear his throat. "I just thought, nuh-uh, no way am I letting that happen to _me_."

"You didn't plan for the possibility it could?" Steve asked.

"I didn't," he shrugged, "but dad did. It's written into a bunch of legal stuff. 'The Bondmate of Tony Stark may not, at any time, be in a position of employ or authority in Stark Industries, its minor companies, its assets, etc.' Sorry to rain on your parade," he huffed out a laugh, but it sounded forced in comparison to Steve's laughter, which still echoed in his ears.

"Sounds like something he'd do," Steve said. Tony didn't comment on that.

"Look," Tony said, pushing open the door, "this is bullshit, and we both know it." On his hands and knees, he crawled out into the hallway to sit against the doorframe so he could look at Steve.

Steve was hunched over with his knees to his chest, his arms curved over them loosely. He looked over to Tony and met his eyes.

"Is it?"

"Uh, I don't know what you're implying, but --"

"Shut up for a minute, Stark," he said. "I've known you, what, two years now? You can be hard-headed sometimes--"

"You can talk."

"You're inconsiderate and, frankly, narcissistic." Steve sighed. "But you're a good man, Tony. We work well together. We run this team together." Tony watched Steve twiddle his thumbs in his lap.

"And?" he prompted, knowing there was more.

"And we're good together, when we're not arguing. You've gotta agree with that."

"Yeah, and?" Tony sneered. "Doesn't mean a thing. Cap, sorry, but you're just not my type."

"That's not what I'm saying, Stark," Steve sighed.

"Then what are you saying?" Tony interrupted impatiently. "Just spit it out."

"Maybe we can work with this," Steve said. "Take advantage of it, without it -- without _letting_ it get in the way of the lives we've already made for ourselves."

Tony tapped his fingers against his legs. "Unless we can figure out a way to break it," he said, "unless we can --"

"Don't, Tony," Steve interrupted him softly, "No false hope. You know no one's ever--"

"And why not?" Tony crossed his arms. "What's stopping us from trying? If anyone can find a way, we -- _I_ can."

Steve stared at him for a moment before he shrugged noncommittally.

"In the meantime, who're we telling?" Steve asked practically.

"We can't let the press catch wind," Tony said, "there's no fucking way I'm letting them know that. It pisses me off when they ask me questions about Bruce, and that's public."

"The team'll have to know," Steve said. Tony tried to hide the panic on his face, but he had forgotten; Steve didn't need to read his body language anymore. "Eventually," Steve nodded begrudgingly. "When we're ready. What about Fury?"

Tony let out a bitter laugh. "Old one-eye? I don't see how this is any of SHIELD's business."

"If it puts the team at risk--"

"Weren't you the one who just said we could work _with_ it? That's _our_ business, before it's even the team's business. And it’s definitely not SHIELD's. We don't work for them." Steve must have been able to sense something, the set of Tony's jaw or the resolution in his voice, because he didn't protest.

"But we _are_ planning on telling them," Steve said, trying to pin Tony down with his gaze. Tony avoided it and looked at his fingers instead.

"Well, yeah, eventually," Tony said offhandedly, not meaning a word of it. "Not yet, though."

"Not yet," Steve repeated. He paused awkwardly, and then got to his feet. Tony stood, too, and leaned against the doorframe, standing half in his room and half in the hallway. "You and Bruce gonna be okay?" Steve asked softly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, of course," Tony rolled his eyes and took a step back into his room.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Steve said, sending Tony a half-smile before he seemed to realize that it was probably inappropriate to the situation. "Do you mind if I … stay at the Tower a few days?"

"Tower's yours for as long as you want," Tony waved him off. "Tell JARVIS if you need anything, and you know where the gym is, of course."

"Thanks," Steve said finally. He stepped forward impulsively, and Tony felt it too, the urge to brush hands or lips or skin, the need to feel the Bond in flesh when he felt their time together slipping through his fingers. Steve took a step back, as though he'd received an electric shock when his brain caught up with the rest of him. Tony watched his shoulders fall.

"See you around, Cap," Tony said, stepping forward to playfully punch him on the arm. It was like being shocked again, the sensation of Steve's warm skin brushing his knuckles. Tony wanted to keep his hand there and wrap it around Steve's bicep, pull him in and never let go, push him against the wall and taste his lips. He backed away instead, closing the door behind Steve.

"'Night," Steve said before the door closed between them.

Breathless, Tony banged his head against the door once and wondered faintly if Steve would be able to tell if he spent the next minutes furiously masturbating.

*

The answer, as Tony found out the next morning in the shower, was yes.

Tony knew Steve was awake from the moment he rolled out of bed. Awake, and tired -- back from a run? Or the gym? Tony couldn't quite tell, but Steve was in the building, the Eagle Has Landed, et cetera.

Tony blundered his way into the shower and threw his clothes in the vague direction of the hamper, next to Bruce's Emergency Pants and the joke Hulk boxers Natasha had bought for him on a whim.

He was standing in the stream of water (Man, he loved being rich -- after showering at Clint's once, he was done with poor people showers. Forever.) when he felt it.

"Steve," he gasped, aware that Steve was more than just awake; he was horny. Tony felt heat rushing down and coiling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a slow burn, wasn't like just being turned on, it was _more_. He imagined Steve, stroking himself in his room, moaning Tony's name, and Tony could almost feel Steve's big, callused hands as he jerked himself off.

Tony leaned against the wall of the shower and took his cock in his hand. There was no doubt in his mind that Steve could feel him, too, that Steve knew he had a hand around his cock and was thrusting into it, biting back a moan for no reason other than a strange sense of being watched.

He let his mind wander, fantasizing that Steve would run up to Tony's room, burst into the shower and fuck him until they used up all of the warm water in Avengers Fucking Tower; imagining how his muscles would feel under Tony's touch, under Tony's tongue; wondering if Steve was experienced or a virgin or naïve but confident, as he was in all other things. Tony didn't bother to bite back another moan.

"Steve," he said, and suddenly stopped stroking himself long enough to think. Because Bruce wasn't back yet.

Bruce, who Tony liked, not just because he was amazing in bed, but because he was, well, _Bruce_.

Bruce, whose eyes crinkled when he laughed _and_ when Tony was annoying him _and_ when he was reading in bed, be it scientific journals or novels or the funny pages.

Bruce, who spent all night on Clint's lumpy couch because Tony needed _space_.

Bruce, who Tony promised, half a year ago (fuck, had it been that long already?), that he would stick to him. And only him. Like glue.

It wasn't exactly cheating, but it sure as hell felt like it.

"I can't do this," Tony said out loud, and he wasn't sure if Steve understood or knew or felt it, because he felt another wave of arousal wash over him almost painfully. "Fuck," he groaned. Tony splayed his fingers out across the tiles of the shower and felt the moisture. "Okay," he said, thrusting into his hand once more, trying to imagine Bruce spread out beneath him, and, when that didn't stop the guilt, anonymous, calloused hands, and skin that was warm to the touch.

When Steve orgasmed, he sure as hell felt _that_ , a wave of pleasure and heat that hit him stronger than any wave yet. It only took a few moments until Tony came as well, shouting into the shower, his call bouncing off the white bathroom tiles.

Tony bit down on his lip a moment too late, and just stood there, wrung out, wondering what the hell had just happened.

*

"What do you mean; they didn't come from outer space?" Tony said in disbelief into the video call, "there was a portal, Reed, you saw what it looked like! Just like the goddamn Chitauri!"

"Tony, you should know as well as anyone, appearances can be deceiving," Reed Richards replied with a barely suppressed smug grin. "It _looked_ like the tesseract's portal, yes, but my sensors picked up something else entirely."

_An eleven out of ten on the Smug Douche-O-Meter?_ Tony mused to himself.

"It appears to be another dimension," Reed continued, pulling up a picture of the portal on the screen. He pulled away the first layer to reveal his scan of the portal. It looked like something off the weather channel, the radar image of a hurricane, the center blank while bright neon reds and oranges swirled around it. "We've hypothesized for years that there are other dimensions -- I've been able to detect some myself. But traveling there is completely different. No one's ever been through a portal like this, Tony." Reed paused for a moment, jealousy clear on his face. "Except for you."

"Yeah, well, didn't have much time to look around," Tony said, looking away and taking a slow, deep breath to try to fight the pressure building up in his chest.

"And this tech," Reed said, oblivious, "it's unlike anything I've ever seen. Artificial intelligence that would even rival Just A Rather Very Intelligent System!"

"Yeah, his name is JARVIS," Tony interrupted.

"Has someone sent this to Pym?" Reed continued, stretching off the screen to look at the robot -- _Jesus fuck_ , Tony hated when he did that, couldn’t he just walk across the room like everyone else? -- with a manic look in his eyes. "I bet he'd love to get his hands on --"

"Why were they trying to get into our dimension in the first place?" Tony asked, and then said, "Wait, when you say you've been able to detect them--"

"Only dimensions that exist inside our own," Reed interrupted, still distracted by the advanced tech laid out on the table in front of him. "I've looked into alternate realities, but I’m not quite there yet. Six months away, probably," he said quickly. "Last time we faced off Victor, he said something about timelines that gave me an idea…"

"Yeaaaah," Tony said, drawing out the word, "but, what do you mean, dimensions inside our own? Different planes?"

"Of a sort," Reed said distractedly. "But, if they're able to develop some kind of transport with this tech --"

"Like, souls and shit?" Tony asked, but Reed froze. "You’ve had to have wondered about it.” Reed pressed his lips together. “Come on,” Tony chided him, smelling something, “you’ve heard the theories. If people can Bond, where does the Bond exist? Chemical exchanges? Electrical impulses? Nothing’s been proven yet.”

Reed slowly stretched and twisted back into his normal shape. "Don't tell Sue," he said, lowering his voice as he looked into the video screen, "but, yes, that's what I've found." Tony didn't let any of his hope show on his face, trying to mask it over with clinical, scientific curiosity alone.

"So it really is on another plane," Tony breathed, "all that hippie shit was right."

"To a degree," Reed nodded. "There are multiple planes of existence layered beneath and above our own -- just one of them seems to be dedicated to the Bond. The data my instruments have been able to collect is difficult to interpret," he looked down to type away at his computer, bringing up a few documents for Tony to squint at on the projected screen.

Reed pulled up a few images from the data. First, he enlarged an image of himself and Sue in the lab, then layered a grid over it and covered the image with a black background. Over that, he finally slotted the last image onto the screen: two areas of white mist, connected by a small string that floated between the two.

"Is that--?" Tony started.

"The Bond," Reed breathed excitedly. His fingers tapped frantically across the computer keys, and the mist began to move, then change color. "These energy signatures move with us, they change in energy output -- hence the colors -- they fluctuate _with_ us. Anger is a strong emotion -- you and Bruce know that, of course -- and the energy appeared significantly stronger than a sample I took when we were both in passive states." Two images animated side-by-side showed the calm white mist next to red and orange movements that twisted and furled like a fire. "I haven't been able to experiment with the full range of emotion," Reed continued, pulling up more images like a grid to compare side-by-side, "but there's a clear correlation. And this is just the beginning!" he said excitedly, "I'm working on something that will detect the Bond long-range, to help understand why it varies in strength and weakness, and--"

"Can you manipulate the Bond?" Tony asked as the neon images burned their selves into his vision. Reed stopped suddenly, as if remembering that he was talking to someone. Slowly, he pulled his data off the screen. "You know, professional curiosity," Tony said, "I've never -- I mean, I wouldn't--"

"I've only been able to scan Sue and myself," Reed said, once again in a quiet, secretive voice. "I can't scan others without their permission, and who would allow me to mess with that, anyways? The ethics of it…I can't experiment with the Bond," he said firmly, which Tony took to interpret as, _I'll risk a lot of things, but I won't risk that._

"Not even a little?" Tony pushed, but Reed shook his head.

"I can't manufacture a Bond, Tony," Reed said apologetically. "No matter how much it's wanted. I can't create that much energy, not yet, and even then--"

"Then, what happens when a Bond is destroyed?" Tony pressed, "when someone dies, and their Bond is broken? What happens to that energy, then? Could you destroy a Bond?"

"As I said, I just don't have that data yet," Reed shook his head. "I'm years from that. I'm still working on my equipment, and then, there's a question of how ethical it is to manipulate Bonds, and what might happen if this technology would get into the wrong hands, and --"

"Yeah, okay," Tony huffed, "because ethics and shit have ever stopped you before."

"Relationships can be rewarding whether or not there's a Bond, Tony," Reed said, swerving dangerously towards sounding emotional. "I’m sorry you and Bruce can't experience this, but I don't think --" Tony tuned Reed out as he started to talk about Bond hypotheses and comparing his and Bruce's readings and maybe even seeing if Pym and Van Dyne wanted to stop in. _He thinks Bruce and I want a Bond_ , Tony thought. Like other people wanted kids, or Thor wanted a team puppy. He thought Tony was talking about him and _Bruce_. Tony tried not to breathe a sigh of relief, and decided to let Reed keep on thinking that.

"Thanks for the update on the portal, Reed," Tony said suddenly.

Reed stopped. He gave Tony a strange look. "I'll send you my readings," he said. _And I'll ignore your emails_ , Tony thought.

"Yeah, cool," Tony nodded, and moved to end the call.

"Tony," Reed said suddenly, before Tony hung up, "I am sorry, really. If it makes you feel better, Bonds aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Right. Bye, Reed," Tony said, and cleared Reed from the display.

He swiveled away from the video screen in his chair and sighed.

"Bonds aren't all they're cracked up to be, huh?" he muttered to himself in his empty workshop. “Tell me about it."

*

Tony had his music turned up and a blowtorch in hand when Bruce returned to the Tower. He input his code and shut the door behind him, not coming over to talk to him immediately or turning off Tony's too-loud music like he did sometimes if he was in a Mood. It was all perfectly fine with Tony, because he wasn't finished welding this thing to the bottom of the barebones Quinjet engine he was working on. Tony raised a hand to acknowledge Bruce's presence and switched his attention back to the engine.

He wasn't overly fond of people hanging out in his workshop while he was working, not even Bruce (He was a scientist and Tony was an engineer; their partnership in science had ended over six months ago after a brief honeymoon period filled with blowing up the lab and blowing each other, fond memories, etc., wait, where'd he put that wrench --?). Tony banged his elbow against something as he reached for his tools.

"Shit," he swore, "DUM-E, wrench," he said, throwing out his arm, throbbing elbow and all, and taking the wrench handed to him. His mind darted back to the engine, away from whatever the hell he'd been thinking about, because, hell, was SHIELD hiring _anyone_ with an engineering degree these days?

He set down the blowtorch and decided to take a look at the carburetor next to see what kind of mess they'd managed to make with that, when someone cleared their throat a foot away.

Tony looked over with wide eyes and a guilty smile to Bruce, who was laughing quietly at him.

"You forgot I was here," he said, shaking his head back and forth and pressing his hand to his mouth to cover his smile. "I even handed you your wrench. You were muttering under your breath, you know."

"I don't mutter," Tony muttered. He got to his feet, stepped over his tools, and grabbed hold of the belt loops on Bruce's Special Stretchy Pants to pull him closer. "You still missed me," Tony smiled, "I missed you."

Bruce pecked him on the mouth and pulled away. "You didn't miss me," he said, rolling his eyes, "I was gone for, what, twelve hours? What is this, separation anxiety? You're a grown man."

"But you did not deny missing me," Tony smirked, "you didn't, which means you did, you missed me." Triumphantly, he kissed Bruce back. "Missed me, missed me, now you gotta --" Bruce kissed him.

Tony pulled Bruce closer by his belt loops. He pressed their bodies together and leaned upwards (on his toes, he hated to admit, how was it his fault that everyone else was so damn tall?!), wrapping his arms around Bruce's shoulders. Bruce draped his hands lazily down around Tony and clutched at the small of his back. Bruce's mouth was warm and soft, as always, and he tasted like that weird Free Trade tangerine gum he always chewed.

"You were saying?" Bruce said as they pulled away for air, his voice breathless and soft. Tony buried his face in Bruce's shoulder and took a deep breath. "Why do you always smell me?" Bruce muttered into Tony's hair. "You always smell me, it's weird. Can't you just buy my brand of deodorant and sniff that or something?"

"It's not _you_ ," Tony said into his shirt, but it came out muffled.

"Did you just say 'P.U.?' Seriously?" Bruce laughed. "I _am_ dealing with a child, after all."

"I didn't say 'P.U.'!" Tony said indignantly, lifting his head to glare playfully at Bruce. "You need your ears checked. Don't stand so close to Thor when he speaks."

"You are determined to insult me today," Bruce said, brushing dust off Tony's t-shirt as he spoke. "You ignore me, I smell, I'm deaf, I--"

"I missed you," Tony interrupted him, feeling like he was losing his voice as he said the words in a hoarse, broken tone, "I really did. I’m glad you're back."

Bruce kissed Tony's forehead and smiled sadly. "You okay?" he asked softly. Tony swallowed before he surged forward to kiss Bruce, pulling him down with a hand and -- oh, he still had a wrench in his hand, how the hell did that happen -- running his hands through Bruce's hair as his wrench clattered to the floor with the sharp tinkle of metal. Bruce held Tony to him, as if sensing that he needed this comfort, this contact, and Tony pressed closer to him, unable to hold back a small, pathetic whimper in the back of his throat as Bruce ran a comforting hand up his spine.

When they pulled apart, Tony rested his head sideways on Bruce's shoulder and kept the fingers of one of his hands threaded through Bruce's hair. Bruce moved one of his hands from Tony's waist to cover Tony’s hand.

"My hair's getting long," Bruce said.

"I like it long," Tony said, voice muffled again, but he knew Bruce understood. He didn't say anything for a long moment, letting Tony take what he needed, and Tony just stood there in Bruce's embrace and tried to cling to the moment.

"You know that talking thing you're so fond of?" Tony asked, voice heavy with unease, "We should do that now."

He felt Bruce begin to pull away gently. Tony released him, but held Bruce at arm's length -- if this ended badly, as it was likely to, he wanted to save this moment forever -- as he looked into his eyes.

"Okay," Bruce said.

"Okay," Tony breathed. "So, first of all, the Bond sucks," he said, feeling his voice build back up in his throat. "Number two, Steve -- _Rogers_ is still kind of an ass, but he wasn't as big of a dick about it as I thought."

Bruce couldn't suppress a chuckle at that. Tony tried to look offended. "Did you talk?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tony said. "We're keeping it between us for now, until we can figure out how to, what was it, 'work around it' or some other shit. That man has teamwork running through his _blood_."

"And, number three?" Bruce prompted. Tony resisted the urge to close his eyes and let his hands fall from Bruce's sides.

"Yeah, it's kind of a footnote to number one, actually," Tony rambled, "well, more of an entire paragraph, or a page, maybe a subtopic? On a bulleted list of reasons why the --"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted him, tilting his head to the side to remind Tony that his avoidance tactics weren't going to work.

"He started jerking off, okay? And I felt it." Tony swallowed. "And it was, um, really hard to -- _shit_ , difficult to ignore. And I know I shouldn't have, but I just _felt_ him, and I couldn't help it, I was in the shower, so I just…jerked off, too." Tony crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the floor, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the smooth concrete. "Like, I know that's shitty, but he can feel it, _I_ can feel it, whenever there's some strong emotion. If he's angry -- which he has been, all morning, is that how you feel all the time? -- or sad, or fucking _horny_ , I feel it. And I’m sorry. I didn't want -- I never wanted to cheat on you." He scuffed a foot against the floor.

Bruce took a deep, slow breath, and let it out just as slowly. Tony counted mentally as he stared at his shoes, waiting for Bruce to finish counting as well.

"Is it selfish of me to want to have really hot, angry sex with you right now as revenge?" Bruce said suddenly. Tony's head snapped up. He couldn't hide his grin as Bruce closed the distance between them. "Because right now Steve's upstairs, watching television or reading or talking to Natasha about the weather, but in a moment he's going to know you're having the greatest sex of your life and he's missing out on that."

Tony let out a strangled laugh.

"This is why I love you," he grinned as Bruce pushed him up against the Quinjet engine and kissed Tony hard, letting his hands wander down to squeeze Tony's ass.

Tony gasped when Bruce moved his mouth to Tony's neck and sucked on his skin hard enough to leave a bruise. "Fuck," he said, "Bruce, baby, usually I'd be up for the engine sex thing," Bruce rolled his hips into Tony's and he bit back a groan, "but we're going to have to move this somewhere else, because we're inches away from second degree burns and I can't help but imagine Captain Reynolds walking in on us any moment now."

"Only you would make _Firefly_ references while I'm trying to have sex with you," Bruce huffed as he backed away, pulling Tony away from the hot engine by the hand. Tony scrambled with his hand in a drawer to pull out a condom.

" _Trying_ might be the key word here," Tony grumbled as Bruce pulled him away and pushed him up against the nearest wall instead. He ripped Tony's t-shirt off and threw it aside. "JARVIS," Tony said, "privacy mode."

With the glass windows to his workshop tinted and the chance of them being interrupted firmly stomped out, Tony let out a moan as Bruce sucked on one of his nipples, toying with it between his teeth and tongue.

"Bruuuuuce," Tony moaned as Bruce's mouth brushed over the sensitive, smooth skin in the center of his chest, "there's a distress call…in my pants," he huffed out. Bruce moved back to look at Tony.

"On the other hand, _someone's_ not getting _any_ sex if they quote _Firefly_ incorrectly," he said, a glint in his eye.

"Oh, fuck you," Tony laughed, turning his attention to unbuttoning Bruce's solid magenta shirt. (He wished to himself that Bruce would stop shopping with Clint, because the man had _zero_ fashion taste.)

"Not yet," Bruce scolded when Tony finally threw his shirt onto the floor and began fumbling over his belt. He wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrists and held them back.

"Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal," Tony whined as he struggled against Bruce's grip.

"Better," Bruce said, surging forward with urgency and hunger in his kiss. He still held Tony's hands away as he pressed him against the wall with his hips. Tony couldn't help but make desperate whimpering noises in the back of his throat as the friction built between them. They were both hard and desperate, but Bruce cruelly took his time in kissing Tony until his mouth was swollen, pulling Tony's bottom lip between his teeth and biting his lip just enough to hurt. He pulled away to catch his breath.

"Is it okay if--" Bruce started. Tony grinned and cut Bruce off with a kiss.

"We’ve talked about this. You know I like you when you're bossy," he smirked, and Bruce laughed and attacked Tony's neck, next.

It hit Tony like a train, the knowledge that Steve was jerking off upstairs; the gap between Tony's arousal and this transmission of thought made it clear that he'd had to extricate himself from some social situation first. Tony stopped himself from laughing, because this was priceless -- he couldn't wait for the next time he and Bruce ran into Steve -- Steve was going to be as embarrassed as hell.

"What is it?" Bruce huffed out breathlessly.

"He's -- god, this is kind of a dick move, isn't it?" Tony said, "he's going to be so --"

"-- Turned on by the thought of us fucking?" Bruce said, "by imagining you sucking my cock?"

Tony couldn't hide his grin as he met Bruce's eye and got down onto his knees, faster than Bruce was trying to push him down by the shoulders.

"This is just proof that I've been a bad influence on you," he said as he unbuckled Bruce's belt. He whipped it out of Bruce's pants and threw it aside.

"Tell me about it," Bruce said, bringing his hand down to Tony's head and lazily running his fingers through the short hair at the bottom of Tony's neck. Tony took his time with Bruce's button and zipper even as Bruce's hand urged him forward to press his mouth to Bruce's pants over his cock. Tony felt his arousal pool even lower in his stomach and moaned, knowing the vibrations would send shivers down Bruce's spine. "Tony," Bruce moaned, pulling Tony’s head closer by his hair, "get on with it."

Tony huffed a laugh. He waited until he was finished unzipping Bruce’s pants before he pulled them down -- they were stretchy enough to do without, but he liked the way anticipation built in the pit of both of their stomachs. He grinned as he took hold of Bruce's boxers with his teeth and pulled, letting them pool down at his ankles with his pants. Bruce waited for Tony to open the condom and roll it onto his cock before he pulled Tony's head forward with his hand.

"Fuck," Bruce said as Tony's lips touched the head of his dick. Tony didn't move any faster or take any more of Bruce into his mouth, and Bruce's hand pulled at his hair -- gently at first, but harder as Tony refused to move. "Fuck you, Tony," Bruce laughed, "you're so damn stubborn." Tony pulled his mouth away.

"'Scuse me, I'm being really sexy here, you're just not appreciating it," Tony slurred.

Bruce sighed, long-suffering and fond, and kicked his shoes and pants off while Tony glared up at him. "Trust me," he said, lowering his voice into something near a growl, "you're on your knees in front of me, half-naked, sucking my cock. In your workshop. Quoting science fiction. I am appreciating this. I am --" Bruce stopped talking in favor of moaning Tony's name when Tony leaned forward to take Bruce into his mouth again.

He sucked hard, pulling noises from the back of Bruce's throat that he loved to hear so much. Tony let his hands crawl up Bruce's thighs to cup his ass. He felt Bruce's body shift as Bruce threw out an arm to brace against the wall behind Tony, and returned his other hand to its place in Tony's hair. After a few moments, Tony pulled back a few inches, trying to breathe around Bruce's cock and tease him more.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," Bruce muttered as Tony ran his tongue over the underside of his cock. _Hell yeah, I am,_ Tony thought to himself. "You're always such a tease, but you're so hot like this, down on your knees, sucking me off because you love it." Tony swallowed and hummed his agreement, holding back full out laughter as Bruce thrust shallowly into his mouth. He panted, trying to hold himself back. "You're so hot -- god, sometimes I just stare at your mouth and imagine pushing you down so you can suck me off -- I can't believe you sometimes, Tony."

Tony swallowed as much of Bruce’s dick as he could until the tip of his nose brushed skin and hair. Bruce bucked a little, rubbing his mouth, his throat raw. Tony concentrated on breathing through his nose, on palming his erection through his jeans and making sure Bruce was fine. Bruce muttered something Tony couldn't make out as he thrusted harder, and Tony moved up and down his cock to match his increasingly desperate thrusts.

"…Can't wait," Bruce said, the end of his sentence trailing off. Tony looked up, straining his eyes to get a look at Bruce. His head was tilted back in pure bliss, his beautiful throat naked and bared to the world, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His mouth was open and his eyes closed as he muttered and gasped epithets to Tony's name.

"Hmm?" Tony questioned, humming and drawing more shivers from Bruce.

"Can't wait to fuck you later," Bruce said, "you're so --" he gasped, hips stuttering, and Tony knew he was going to come any moment now. "Tony," he warned, voice harsh and heavy with lust and pleasure. He rocked harder, fingers curling painfully into Tony's hair as he came. Tony waited until he was done, until the aftershocks had begun to set in and Bruce's fingers were limp in his hair, and then pulled back. He pulled off the condom and tied it off before throwing it in the general direction of the nearest trashcan (he had robots for cleanup, okay?).

Tony's knees were killing him as he stood up. He pressed his fingers into Bruce's bare shoulders, relishing the feeling of skin underneath his hands. Bruce's eyes opened as Tony surged forward and kissed him. He panted into Bruce's mouth as Bruce pushed him back against the wall, hands roaming down Tony's body to his jeans. He pulled them off without any of the ceremony that Tony had afforded him, but ignored Tony's erection in favor of attacking Tony's neck with his mouth again.

"Fuck," Tony gasped while Bruce greedily sucked at his neck again, "you've gotta stop doing that, everyone will see --"

"Good," Bruce growled. Tony laughed. With a little maneuvering, he managed to slip out of his shoes and kick his pants halfway off, until Bruce bent down impatiently to rip them away.

Tony gasped when Bruce took his cock in his hand. His hand was soft, and his nimble fingers drew moans out of Tony as they met sensitive skin. Bruce kissed Tony as he jacked him off, running his hand up and down Tony's dick, using his pre-come to slick him up. It wasn't really enough, but as long as Bruce's hand stayed where it was, hot and tight and moving, Tony didn't care.

In the back of his mind, he could feel Steve's arousal and want as he jacked himself off upstairs. Tony rested his head against the wall at his back and swallowed the laugh that threatened to bubble over; this was one thing he and Steve would never share, this was between him and Bruce, and it was wonderful. Tony moaned Bruce's name as he felt himself getting closer to the edge.

"You close?" Bruce asked. Tony nodded and Bruce slowed down, barely moving his thumb up and down the underside of Tony's cock.

"Fuck, fuck, you're a bastard," Tony swore as he thrust his hips forward, seeking more contact and friction. "I’m a bad influence, I'm a terrible influence," he babbled, "what happened to the Bruce who was shy and slow and sweet in bed?"

"We're not in bed," Bruce pointed out, removing his hand entirely to push Tony back against the wall, "but when we are," he whispered in Tony's ear as he dipped forward, "I'm going to fuck you through the mattress." Tony didn't know it was possible to be more turned on that he already was, but he was gasping and writhing against Bruce at that.

"Fuck," he said for probably the fiftieth millionth time today, "you know, no one would believe me if I told them you've got a dirty mouth."

"You plan on sharing how much you love it?" Bruce teased, ghosting his hands over the inside of Tony's thighs, "love my cock in your mouth and your hair pulled hard, the taste of skin and the burn of being stretched to the limit, screaming my name when you come…"

"Do you write poetry?" Tony gasped when Bruce took his cock again. "You should -- write poetry. And also," he swallowed, "keep doing --"

"You've always got to be so goddamn mouthy," Bruce growled against his skin, jerking his hand faster and faster, holding Tony back from thrusting into it, pressing Tony into the wall with his skin, nothing but sweat between them. "Thank god I know how to shut you up," he added as Tony exhaled hard, with his head against the wall and his mouth wide open but barely any sound coming out. Tony's eyes were closed and he could see stars behind them, but Bruce's words still filtered into his brain somehow through the fog.

"You're so close, I can tell," Bruce purred in his ear, hand slowing again in the most frustrating way, "I love seeing you so strung out like this. All it'll take is a few more thrusts, and you're all mine. I love seeing you like this," his breath was hot and moist in Tony's ear, and he took Tony's earlobe between his lips before he whispered, "because you're all mine, Tony."

Tony barely registered what it was -- the heat or the friction, Bruce's mouth or his hands, their skin or Bruce's voice -- but in moments he was over the edge and coming over Bruce's hands, calling Bruce's name out as he thrusted and spasmed.

Bruce stayed there and held Tony through it, until he was done and limp against the wall. He held Tony there for a long minute, buried his face in Tony's hair as Tony took deep, gulping breaths of air and then buried his face in Bruce's sweaty neck. Tony's fingers clutched at Bruce's skin to hold him there, and Bruce stroked Tony's back. He never wanted to move from this moment, this wall, but soon enough the air was cool enough to be uncomfortable against their gummy skin and all he wanted was a shower.

"We should go upstairs and clean up," Bruce muttered into Tony's scalp, voice muffled and vibrating through Tony's skull.

"There's a shower down here," Tony protested. He extricated himself from Bruce's arms and winked. "Remember?"

"It's too small," Bruce protested, but he smiled at Tony's expression.

"Guess we'll just have to stay close, then," Tony said, turning from the wall and pulling Bruce with him with two hands on his hips.

Bruce threw his head back and laughed, and Tony felt his heart pumping and swelling like he'd just run a marathon.

*

At first he thought it was the hum of the air conditioning coming on that woke him or the weight of Bruce's arm as he shifted over. Tony opened his eyes to glare at the time on Bruce's lo-fi alarm clock and shut them firmly a moment later.

Steve was awake. He was upset; Tony could tell immediately, the mix of emotions so strong that he felt nearly bowled over by them. Tony took a deep breath -- hard, with the weight of Bruce's arm draped over his chest -- and tried to separate them. He wasn't afraid or angry; he was sad and melancholy, fuming with grief. Tony screwed his eyes shut and tried to ignore it, but he couldn't.

Careful not to wake Bruce up, Tony carefully rolled out from under Bruce's arm and rolled out of bed, taking a step towards the cabinets on the other end of the room.

Tony stopped at the sight of his shadow creeping across the room, the moon and city lights creating just enough light in the darkness, and turned back. He pulled the covers up around Bruce, smiling softly when Bruce shifted, throwing his arm out in the bed like an octopus.

Tony made sure to keep quiet as he pulled on a pair of loose, striped pajama pants and a t-shirt that may or may not have been his. He stopped and poured himself a drink, too, trying to keep the clink of glass and ice quiet. He took a sip and closed his eyes, relishing the burn that traveled down his throat before he opened them.

He waited until he was out in the hallway, the door to their bedroom shut with a click, before he spoke.

"JARVIS, where's St -- Rogers?" he asked aloud.

"Captain Rogers is in the gym, sir," JARVIS supplied, "but I'm not sure he wants to be --"

"I put door locks on for a reason, if he doesn't want to be disturbed, he doesn't have to leave the doors wide open," Tony interrupted as he got into the elevator. "Take me down, JARVIS."

"Yes, sir."

When Tony strode into the gym, Steve didn't even turn to look at him. He kept punching away at the bag in front of him, making it swing back and forth, catching it with his wrapped fists and sending it flying into the other one. Tony carefully approached him, not sure if Steve even noticed he was there yet. Tony looked around at the gym equipment, the broken punching bags lined up on the floor, the blue mat and white walls, and wondered why he hadn't upgraded this place yet.

"Have you come down here to apologize?" Steve called across the room without turning.

"Not really," Tony said, strolling across the mat towards him. "I don't apologize when I haven't done anything wrong."

"So you aren't sorry?" Steve said tersely. He punched the bag, sending it swinging.

"Why should I be?" Tony crossed his arms and stopped, feet away from Steve, staring at his back as he swung at the punching bag.

"You tell me," Steve aid, punching the bag, "because I'm sick of you feeling so --" _Punch_. "—damn --" _Punch_. "— sorry for yourself." _Punch._ The force of his last punch sent the bag flying through the air to the ground, sand spilling out of it. Steve just stood there quietly, staring at it as it rolled to a stop.

Tony crossed his arms and walked over to the punching bag to prod it with his foot. Steve didn't continue, leaving Tony with an awkward silence that crawled into his stomach like Steve's disappointment and anger. Tony was used to dealing with anger as he was used to Bruce and Hulk, but he wasn't used to feeling anger he couldn't harness.

"It's not the chain, it's the fabric," he said, looking at the broken punching bag. "It's not strong enough. Needs to be reinforced. I think I have some stuff that'll do. Same stuff I used to make Hulk's pants. Do you have a color preference? Maybe I could add some automation, too, see if the punching bag can't punch back. Or is that too much? I know no programming is equal to Natasha's--"

"So this is how you apologize," Steve said heavily. "You think you can buy me."

"No, that would be too easy," Tony turned to glare at him. "This is what I do. I fix things," he waved a hand over the punching bag. "This? Pretty sure it's something I can't fix. So excuse me if I'm sorry that I have to spend the rest of my life with this," he threw an arm out, motioning between him and Steve.

"There it is again," Steve took a step forward, "you think you're the only one who matters! You know what, Stark? You've got Bruce. You've got your boyfriend, your toys, and your team, and you're never going to lose that. You think I'm looking forward to the rest of my life? To waking up knowing that you're screwing him, that you're drinking to numb the pain, that you're half-dead after a battle because you can't take care of yourself? You think I _want_ that?" His chest heaved.

"What do you want from me?" Tony yelled, "do you want an apology? Do you want me to leave Bruce, to run off with you because we're ‘soulmates’?" he threw up finger quotes as he sneered. "I never wanted any of this, I never wanted you, or this team, and I'd give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant that I was rid of _you._ " When Steve opened his mouth to argue, Tony continued. "I didn't come down here to apologize, actually, not that you took the time to ask me why. Want to know?" Steve didn't rise to it.

"I felt you," Tony said, "your pain. I thought you'd want someone to talk to, to distract you, because if anyone knows what it's like not to be able to sleep at night, it's me. But you don't want that, do you? You want me to fuck off? Fine."

Tony turned and stalked out of the room.

*

"We've got to stop doing this," Steve said as he sat down at the kitchen table across from Tony. Startled, Tony shut off the screen to his tablet and glared at Steve over his whiskey.

"Doing what?" Tony said, unable to stop himself.

"Arguing and storming out. Suspecting the worst in each other."

Tony drained the rest of his glass and reached for the bottle. Steve reached across the table and took it, read the label, and, to Tony's surprise, grabbed his empty glass out of his hand to pour himself some. Steve drained it all in one gulp without coughing or flinching. Damn serum.

"Thought you couldn't get drunk," Tony said. Steve slid the glass across the table and Tony caught it in his hands.

"Can't," Steve shrugged, "doesn’t mean I can't enjoy the taste."

"Uh huh," Tony raised an eyebrow. He reached out for the bottle, but Steve pulled it away. "Gimme that," he said, but Steve was unrelenting. After a few moments, Tony gave up and stared down into his empty glass, the ice cubes at the bottom melting into water. He tapped his fingers against the perspiration on the glass.

"My father was an alcoholic," Steve said. Tony glanced up. Steve was staring at the bottle, picking at the label of the expensive whiskey absentmindedly.

"Yeah? Join the club," Tony huffed out, stretching back in his chair. Steve looked up at him and Tony felt the guilt in his gaze.

"I'd like you to be sober for this conversation, when we finally have it," Steve said, setting the bottle back on the table.

"Well, there's about zero chance of that, so why not just start now?"

"Stark--" Steve started.

"Tony," he interrupted, "For Christ's sake, we're Bonded; just call me 'Tony' already."

Steve eyed him carefully before he continued. "Tony," he said. "Get some sleep."

"Tried," Tony shrugged, "Couldn't."

"You should--"

"Why do you care?" Tony interrupted him. "You just made it _very_ clear that you don't want anything to do with me. Why are you still here?"

Steve's mouth thinned into a flat line. Tony took advantage of the moment to grab the whiskey. Steve watched as he poured it out and sighed when Tony raised the glass to his lips.

"You're an asshole," he said suddenly. Tony nearly dropped the glass in shock and laughed delightedly.

"Right back atcha," Tony chuckled.

"You and Bruce…" Steve trailed off. Tony thought he was too embarrassed to mention it, but Steve continued on after a moment, "You can't just _do that_ , not out of the blue. I was talking to Natasha!" He frowned.

"Do what?" he said with faked obliviousness, because Steve had already established that he was an asshole.

"Have sex," Steve said with a glare, "when you _know_ I can tell, when you know I'm with someone else --"

"Like you knew, this morning, when you were jerking off after your morning run?" Tony said casually.

"I didn't know until --" Steve started, scowling, but Tony waved him off.

"Fine, you're sorry. I'm sorry. Honestly, I think you're just lucky that Bruce chose to let out his anger in a more _constructive_ way."

Steve didn't look at all amused, or even chagrined. "You know he wouldn't do that," Steve said, "if he has a problem, he'll talk to me. Bruce is reasonable."

"Compared to…?"

"We need to come to an agreement, Tony," Steve said. “What if I'm in a meeting with Fury? Don’t get any ideas," he said, cutting off Tony's grin.

Tony was about to jokingly propose a threesome when Steve's expression smoothed into his steady planning face.

"You can't just…go at it any time of the day," Steve said. "We need to work out when it's okay."

"Because boners are inappropriate during team meetings, got it," Tony smirked. “So, what do you propose? We set a time every day? Or is this like college and you put a sock on the door? …Did anyone actually do that?"

"You're the one who always talking about phones,” Steve said, “send me a text if you can tell I'm not asleep." He paused awkwardly. "And, you and Bruce…" Steve trailed off and swallowed. "If either of you ever need to talk to me --"

"Bruce is all about talking about his feelings," Tony sighed. "Anything else?"

"If you're hurt," Steve said slowly, "or in pain…don't… I’m not just saying this because I can feel it too, Tony," he said.

"You're saying this because I burned myself in the lab the other day, aren't you?" Tony asked. "You felt it."

"Wasn't real pain," Steve frowned, "didn't hurt like being burned does. But I don't want you avoiding medical attention. Bond or not."

"Fine," Tony nodded, not intending to follow through at all. "But I have a condition."

Steve tilted his head forward, listening.

"Stop using the Bond to read me," Tony said, lowering his voice, "I get it. You can't help it. But I'm not one of your missions, Rogers, and I’m not a project that you can solve. It's four AM and I'm drinking alone for a reason. I don't want your pity, I don't want your company, and I sure as hell don’t want this Bond." When Steve opened his mouth, Tony shook his head violently. "You didn't ask for this either, fine. But if you want this to work out? You're going to respect that my feelings are _mine_ , not yours, and stop trying to be so damn noble about it. We got a deal?"

Tony watched as a muscle worked in Steve's jaw.

"Sounds fair," Steve nodded. "It's a deal." Unthinkingly, Tony held out a hand for Steve to shake. He took it.

Steve's hand was warm. His fingers brushed Tony's wrist and Tony could feel calluses against his palm, emotions flitting over their skin, sparks burning into his veins and melding their hand together.

Gathering all of his self-control, Tony pulled away. He watched Steve nod once, like he was assuring himself of something. Tony wondered what it was.

"Well," Tony said, pulling his hand back to his side and pretending like he didn't long to touch more of Steve's skin. "'Night."

He turned, leaving his glass on the table, and began to walk out of the kitchen, ignoring the pumping of his heart as he passed Steve.

"Stark."

Tony hesitated just outside of the kitchen and half-turned to look at Steve.

"Tony," Steve corrected. "We didn't talk about the team. We gonna tell them?"

Tony felt his chest seize up with dread at the thought alone.

"Yeah," he said flippantly. "Sure, eventually. When we find the right time." Tony appreciated that Steve only nodded, even though he had to know Tony was lying.

He turned back around and walked away, ignoring the pull in his chest that urged him back to Steve's side.


	2. Chapter Two

"On your left," Cap yelled out.

"Well, duh," Tony replied, blasting the AIM agent about to shoot him with whatever hi-tech gun they'd developed this week. "Seriously," he said, half to himself and half to the others through the comms, "didn't I take down these guys _years_ ago?"

"That's what I said about HYDRA when I first woke up," Cap replied. Tony started a little, because he wasn't used to Cap exchanging banter during battle, but he recovered quickly enough to shoot some miniature missiles at the AIM goons that had begun to surround him and Cap in the center of the evacuated street. Steve threw his shield, knocking out two of them, and ran to retrieve it. Tony missed his presence at his back the moment Cap was gone, but he ignored the itch at the back of his mind in favor of firing his repulsors a few more times. He cleared out his side of the street in minutes, taking only one bad hit from their advanced guns.

It should have been an easy fight, really. Thor was in Asgard and the Black Widow was away on a mission, but they could manage those amateurs just fine. They had Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America, and Hawkeye. It should have been enough.

That was when the buildings began to explode.

"What the hell --" Hawkeye began to say, followed by, "Hulk, think fast!"

Tony turned to focus on Hawkeye and zoomed in as Barton jumped off his building, moments before it exploded, the building crumpling into a pile of bricks. Tony's heart jumped into his mouth, but the Hulk was there to catch him, as he always was, and set Hawkeye back on the ground.

"Stark, look out!" Cap's yell from down the block cut through his thoughts, startling him, and Tony focused back on the AIM agents pointing a huge missile at him long enough to blast them backwards.

"Thanks, Ca--"

Tony turned to Cap, halfway down the block, and heard nothing but a roaring noise in his ears.

The building behind Steve exploded, bricks, rubble, and dust sent spiraling into the sky.

"Steve!" Tony yelled, rushing towards the blue and red figure as it disappeared into a cloud of gray and fiery orange. Hawkeye’s shouts became meaningless noise to Tony as he watched the building collapse forward, burying Steve in the rubble.

 "Steve!" he yelled again as a wave of pain overtook him, the shock of the impact from the building like being plunged into ice cold water.

Before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees in the rubble, throwing slabs of concrete and brick out of his way, ignoring the dust that hadn't even had time to settle to search for Steve somewhere under the collapsed building.

"Steve, come in, can you hear me?" he said desperately into the comms as another wave of emotion overtook him. He was getting closer. He could feel Steve's fear.

"Stark," Barton's voice replied, sounding out of breath, "I need you over here."

"I can't, I --"

"He's got a life sign, right? And SHIELD is moving in to dig him out--"

"Fuck you, Barton, I can get to him!"

"STARK, I NEED BACKUP --" Barton's voice was cut off by an explosion, and then there was nothing but static.

"Fuck," Tony muttered, "fuck, fuck, fuck, JARVIS?"

"Sir?" his AI replied.

"Life signs?"

There was nothing but the noises of distant explosions for a moment, and then, "I've hacked into SHIELD surveillance. The Hulk and Hawkeye are fending off the remaining AIM agents, but they seem to have been affected by an electromagnetic pulse."

"Great, so AIM has EMPs now?" Tony shoved aside a piece of rubble, ignoring the feeling of dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach. "Keep me updated, JARVIS."

"Sir, I would recommend that you allow SHIELD to dig out Captain Rogers and rejoin the fight."

"I've almost got him," Tony gritted from between his teeth as he threw aside another slab of concrete. "It's too hot to use heat sensors; they'll take ages."

"Sir--"

"I've got him," Tony said sternly, voice cutting over JARVIS’ electronic spiel. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath of the filtered air through the helmet, and concentrated on the needles of pain shooting through him, the knot above his heart and the string that he had last felt not so long ago. _Come on,_ he thought, _come on, Steve, I know you're there somewhere._

He felt the string vibrate, just for a moment, as though it was a rope hanging over a cliff and someone had just begun to climb.

"Steve?" he called, flipping open the faceplate to look around. He could feel him, feet away, underneath an unforgiving pile of bricks. Tony began digging, throwing bricks out of the way, searching for any sign that Steve was there, safe. "Steve?" he said again, moving a piece of rubble and exposing a glimpse of blue.

Tony had Steve free in seconds. He pulled him from the rubble and into his mechanical arms to look at Steve's bloodied face. Tony peeled off the cowl and threw it aside.

"Steve?" he said desperately, the pins and needles of Steve’s pain still driving into him. "Shit. Are you with me?"

Flexing his hands, Tony let his right gauntlet fold into the arm of his armor and lifted his hand to cup Steve's cheek. The touch was like sparks racing over his skin and he flinched, imagining for a moment that fire had broken out amongst the rubble they stood in.

"Tony?" Steve muttered weakly, barely blinking back to consciousness. His face was burned and bloodied, and Tony realized with a jolt that his touch was only making it worse.

"Are you okay?" Tony said, and then, "I have to go help the others."

Steve didn't nod or acknowledge that Tony had said anything. He stood up, lifting Steve in a fireman's carry, and began to walk through the rubble of the building. He stopped at the first SHIELD agent he saw, handing Steve off with a stern glare that he hoped said “take care of him” before he shut his face plate and allowed his gauntlet to fold back over his hand.

Tony sped off at high speed towards the remains of the fight, but it was too late. The Hulk roared at the crushed remains of some large, overcomplicated device and Hawkeye was out of arrows, using his bow as a weapon on its own. Tony helped him pick off the last few AIM agents.

"What the hell was that, Stark?" Barton said angrily as SHIELD swarmed onto the scene for cleanup. Tony slid open the facemask.

"What?" he said. Hulk snorted, as though he found Tony's denial amusing.

"You know," Barton said simply. "Rushing off after Rogers. We needed backup, Stark. And where the hell were you?"

"In case you didn't notice, a _building_ fell on Captain America," Tony sneered back, "or were you too busy jumping off buildings to notice?"

"I was fighting for my life," Barton snapped, "until you _abandoned_ us."

"You had Hulk. Someone needed to get to Cap. He was in danger," Tony argued. "I don't --"

The Hulk roared then, cutting off Tony's snappy reply and even shocking Barton into silence.

"Whatever," Barton huffed when Hulk quieted, "I'm outta here." He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Tony standing in the middle of the destroyed street with an angry Hulk next to him.

"Hey, big guy," Tony started, looking up at the Hulk, but he didn't smile or blink down on him like he usually did after fights. "Big guy?" Tony asked tentatively as the Hulk snorted, setting dust from the street flying into the air.

"Tony _left_ ," he grunted in a voice was a twisted version of Bruce's, deeper and simpler but full of the same kind of hurt. Bruce would be full of words and disappointment, whereas Hulk was made of little else but deep rage. Rage that Tony almost preferred to Bruce’s quiet disappointment.

"Yeah, but I was helping--"

The Hulk slammed his fist into the street, cracking the concrete beneath his big, green hand.

"Tony help _team,_ " he grunted as Tony stared, speechless. "Team need Tony, Tony help."

"I was trying--"

The Hulk roared again, making every SHIELD agent on the block freeze and stare at the two of them, Iron Man and Hulk, arguing in the middle of a devastated, empty New York street.

"Try _harder_ ," the Hulk huffed before he bounded off after Barton.

Tony lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun for a moment and closed them. He could taste grit in his mouth, the acrid bitterness of smoke, and, more importantly, he could feel Steve wavering on the edge of consciousness. Hurting. But still alive.

With a heavy, frustrated sigh, Tony let his faceplate close with a clang and lifted off into the cloudy blue skies.

*

Fury glared at Tony from across his desk.

"This," he said, holding up a file, "is Agent Barton's report on today's events."

Tony glared at the file Fury held out towards him. It was black, stamped ‘CLASSIFIED’ in big, red letters, and ready to be filed away with all of the other reports they'd written for the debrief. Well, that Clint had written, apparently. Tony hadn't seen anyone else for hours, not since the fight. He could feel Steve somewhere on the Helicarrier, his pain a dull ache in the back of Tony's mind, like a numb spot, an itch he couldn't scratch, pins and needles in his head.

"I don't like being handed things," he said, turning his thoughts back to Fury. Fury only glowered and threw the file at him. Tony caught it against his chest and stared defiantly back for a moment before he opened the file and looked down.

"This is…" Tony trailed off, looking at Barton's messy scrawl, "I can't actually read any of it," he said, shaking his head dismissively.

Fury sighed and tugged the file back out of Tony's grip.

"Barton says that you acted out of character," Fury said. "You ignored the team's need so you could dig out Captain Rogers, even though we already had agents on the field to help him."

"Yeah, like, two hundred feet away," Tony huffed, "my sensors had a lock on him. I found him in no time."

"Our sensors couldn’t even pick him up due to the heat from the explosions," Fury said. "Are you saying yours did, Stark?"

"That's because your sensors are shitty," Tony said plainly. Fury stared at him with his one eye, not believing a word.

"Barton's report said something else," Fury said, and that was it, Tony was going to fucking _kill_ Clint the next time he saw him. "He said that you and the Hulk had an argument." Fury raised his eyebrow. "If there was trouble in paradise, I would expect the two of you to keep it off the field."

"That's none of your business," Tony sneered, crossing his arms. He took a step away from Fury's desk. "Are we done here?" Tony didn't wait for Fury's dismissal to turn and stalk out of his office.

Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket as he walked through the halls of the Helicarrier toward where he'd left his armor. He checked his email, but there was nothing new -- or interesting, at least. He ignored eye contact with the agents staring at him as he stalked through the halls and glared at his phone, as though thought alone could summon the email he was waiting for. He was startled when someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside.

Tony grabbed the hand on his arm and turned, ready to deck whoever had touched him, and was met with Clint Barton's unimpressed glare.

"Shut up, Stark, and get in here," Clint said, pulling Tony into a --

"Is this a broom closet?" Tony said as Clint shut the door behind them and flicked on a light. He looked down at the janitorial supplies on the closet floor and the shelves. "Huh," he said, looking at the giant gallon jugs of wax, "so that's why the floors are always so slippery."

"I said, shut up," Barton said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't have a lot of time, I have a debrief to get to."

"I'm sorry, Barton," Tony drawled, "you're an attractive man, but I'm taken." Clint snorted.

"And you aren't my type," Clint replied. He paused for a moment before he looked down at his shoes, almost sheepishly. "It's about Bruce."

Tony felt his heart jump into his mouth.

"Bruce?" he asked. He hadn't seen him since their argument hours earlier, didn't even know if he'd changed back yet. "Is he alright?"

"He calmed down an hour ago, he's sleeping it off now," Clint shrugged. He looked up to glare at Tony. "He's…really angry with you."

"He's always mad at me," Tony shrugged offhandedly. "It is me, you know."

"No, it's --" Clint cut himself off and sighed. "That's for him to explain," he said. "But, right now, it's your turn. What's going on with you and Steve?"

"What?" Tony spluttered, his heart racing. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're acting weird, Stark," Clint said, "I can tell. Everyone can tell. _Bruce_ can tell."

"That's ridiculous, I --"

"If you're cheating on Bruce," Clint said roughly, "you have to tell him. You have to end it. I'm not going to let you string him along --"

"I am _not_ fucking Steve!" Tony interrupted him exasperatedly, and perhaps a little too loudly. "I'm not, I wouldn't -- he's, he's --" Tony struggled for words, for something he could say to portray how insane of a notion that was. Except it wasn't, not really, because apparently Steve was his fucking _soulmate_ and even Clint had picked up on that. Tony ran a hand down his face, thinking to himself, _I am so screwed._

"Then why the hell did you abandon us today, Stark?" Clint sneered. "Why does he suddenly mean more to you than _us_?"

"Why does no one understand the concept of a rescue?" Tony said. "Are you all content to leave Steve to bleed and die because you can't be bothered to help him? Would no one else have done the same?"

Tony thought it was a good question, at least, but Clint shook his head.

"It's not just about that," he said. "You knew someone else could do that. You knew you could be more useful elsewhere. And, what, you tell me to go fuck myself because you have to dig your boy-toy out of the dirt yourself? You don't ignore your teammates like that, Stark. You don't put one above the other. Yeah, Steve's my friend and he's a good guy, but Hulk and I needed you and Steve was gonna be okay."

"That's not the call I made on the field," Tony said. "I don't get it. When I risk my ass on some dumb chance to save the world, it's okay. But when it's Steve--"

"This isn't about _you_ , Stark," Clint interrupted him, "this is about all of us. The team. Bruce." Clint poked Tony in the chest, right where the arc reactor had once been. "If you hurt him --" Clint started.

"I'm not going to --" Clint pressed the tip of his finger into Tony's chest, hard enough to hurt.

"If you hurt him, you will regret it," Clint sneered.

With that, he turned away from Tony and threw open the door to the supply closet, leaving Tony standing alone, SHIELD agents staring at him as they passed.

*

Tony shut the door to his bedroom and angrily threw his shirt across the room on his way to the bathroom, intending to take a shower and wipe away the signs of battle. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Bruce lying on the bed in a t-shirt and sweats with his back to Tony. The slow rise and fall of his chest and the heavy sounds of his deep, slow breaths gave away that he was sleeping.

Tony crept across the room and crawled onto the bed. He curled himself carefully around Bruce, pressing his nose into Bruce's curls and wrapping an arm under Bruce's. He was warm, too warm, as he always was after he'd Hulked out. Tony momentarily wondered if Bruce had a hypothesis for that, if it was to do with the Hulk's body temperature or the energy used by his transformation.

A moment later, the equations running through Tony's head were interrupted by Bruce as he lifted his arm away from Tony's. He turned, trying to gaze at Tony over his shoulder.

"Hey," Tony said softly, taking advantage of the moment to hook his arm around Bruce and roll him over onto his other side. Tony leaned forward with closed eyes and kissed Bruce gently. Bruce leaned into him, his fingers skating over the bare skin of Tony's stomach and chest. Tony sighed when he pulled away and opened his eyes to smile at Bruce.

Tony watched as Bruce bit his lip, like he was going to say something. Tony surged forwards and kissed him again, pressing closer and threading his hands into Bruce's hair.

"Tony," Bruce said when Tony pulled away and kissed the stubble beginning to grow on his jaw. He ignored Bruce's voice and the scratchy sensation on his lips as he moved down to Bruce's neck and shoulder, pressing kisses all the way. "Tony," Bruce said again, trying to pull Tony up to look at him. "I can't…do this. Not now."

"What?" Tony said, pulling away and detaching himself from Bruce except for a hand, which lingered to cup the side of Bruce's face. "Hey, you're right, you should sleep, we can take a nap."

"No, Tony," Bruce said gently, "I can't," he pulled Tony's hand from his cheek and pressed it to Tony's chest. "I'm mad at you." With that, he moved to sit up.

"You're always mad at me," Tony grumbled, pushing himself up to sit across from Bruce. "C'mon. It's me. It's you. What do you expect?"

"Poor choice of words," Bruce shrugged, crawling across the large bed to the other side. Tony watched his muscles ripple underneath his t-shirt and stilled when he saw Bruce's fists clenching in the comforter. Bruce took a deep breath before he corrected himself, adding, "I'm…disappointed in you, Tony."

"For what?" Tony scoffed, crossing his arms, although he knew exactly what Bruce was getting at. Bruce brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

"You know why," Bruce said. "You abandoned us. For Steve."

"Pretty sure we already had this conversation," Tony said plainly.

"Uh, _we_ didn't," Bruce said.

"I keep telling you," Tony interrupted, "stop saying you're not him. You _are_ him, he's you, he's--"

"We're not having that discussion now," Bruce said sternly. "Tony, you have to get your priorities straight."

" _I_ have my priorities straight," he snapped, "it's everyone else who doesn't. Fury, Barton, you? You all are ready to throw away Steve on a moment's notice--"

"Tony, you're blowing this out of proportion," Bruce interrupted.

"To hell I am!" Tony flung his arms out. "He was injured, and you all think I should have left him to die for thirty seconds more backup--"

"But he wasn't dying, Tony," Bruce spoke over him, "Steve was fine. He _is_ fine. The question is, are _you_ fine, Tony? Are you thinking about this logically? Or are you saying this because of the Bond? Do you actually care about Steve? Have you ever?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tony yelled, "I don't need some stupid Bond to tell me when a teammate needs help. No goddamn Bond has anything to do with--" Tony cut himself off as he sensed Steve standing outside the door, poised to knock. "No," Tony muttered, wishing suddenly that telepathy was a part of the deal as he twisted towards the door. "No, not now."

 _Knock knock knock,_ came the sounds of Steve’s knuckles against their door.

Bruce looked over at Tony, eyebrows raised, and shook his head as Tony made a slashing motion over his throat, silently urging Bruce not to open the door. He got off the bed and walked over to the door.

"Steve?" Bruce said as he opened the door, sounding a bit surprised.

Tony didn't need to see Steve to know that he was slouched over a little, feeling embarrassed and awkward at having interrupted their argument.

However, none of those emotions were reflected in Steve’s voice as he said, “Hi, Bruce. Sorry for bothering you. Can I speak to Tony?” Tony swallowed, wondering if there was some disconnect between Steve’s brain and his voice for him to be able to disguise his emotions so well.

"We were just --" Bruce started.

“Actually,” Steve said, “I need to talk to both of you.”

Tony turned away from them to watch their reflections in the window. Bruce ushered Steve into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Steve felt awkward and ashamed, but, above all, determined for a reason that Tony couldn’t pinpoint. He could feel his discomfort and guilt, but he could read that in Bruce as well. It was in his tense posture and the way his eyes darted towards the doors and windows.

“Tony?” Bruce asked with a question in his voice. When Tony finally turned, he stared at the two of them as they stood a few feet apart. Steve’s arms were crossed over his blue undershirt, the fabric ripped in places from the battle. He wasn’t hurt anymore, but Tony stared at him and felt as though a part of him had been ripped out.

Bruce took a few steps forward as he repeated, “Tony? You okay?”

Tony could feel Steve’s emotions overwhelming him, his sense of duty and responsibility, and even his guilt, something that Steve – that Tony – Tony took in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to separate the pieces of him and Steve inside his head.

Tony felt his head clear suddenly and looked down, realizing that he was still shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. His chest was exposed, and he crossed his arms over his chest and opened his mouth to speak. Steve and Bruce were speaking, saying something, but Tony couldn’t hear them over the roaring in his ears.

“I have to change,” Tony said suddenly, feeling his chest seize up under their gaze. “I didn’t –“ he muttered, barreling past Bruce into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

Tony felt his heart beating violently in his chest, his body screaming at him as it thumped a mile a minute. Tony pressed the heel of his hand over his breastbone for the familiar sharp metal edge of the arc reactor, and met nothing but sweat and skin. _It’s gone._ He sucked in one breath, then another, and felt his limbs lock up.

 _I need the backup,_ Tony thought frantically, trying to pull himself to his feet on the edge of the bathroom’s sink. _I gotta switch it before –_

“Tony!” someone shouted at the edge of his hearing, bringing Tony back to the present. He felt the sharp edge of the marble counter under his white-knuckled grip and tried to focus on that. _It’s gone,_ Tony thought, _it’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone._

"TONY!" Bruce shouted, kicking down the door.

Tony jumped back. He floundered to the floor and pressed himself against the far wall of the bathroom, the tiles cool against his back. He stared at Bruce, framed in the doorway as the door swung limply back and forth on its broken hinges.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Bruce said, freezing self-consciously for a moment before he rushed to Tony's side. He took Tony's right hand in his own. "I didn't mean to scare you, I -- Tony, you're here, in Avengers Tower, you're with me, you're alright," he said gently. "Do you need space?"

"I'm not having a fucking flashback," Tony said sharply -- not that it was helping anyone to snap at Bruce, of all people -- but his chest felt like it was sinking in _again_ and he couldn't quite get the voice in the back of his head that was telling him he was going into cardiac arrest to _shut up._ "Jesus, stop overreacting," he said to Bruce, but mostly to himself.

Tony rubbed his hands over his face, trying to block out the concern and fear that was rushing in at him. He closed his eyes, but voices still echoes around him in the tiled bathroom.

"Should I go?" someone said, and, just as Tony muttered, “Yes,” someone else replied, “No.”

A hand curled around his left, and then another joined it -- hands that were warm and strong and calloused. Hands that Tony never wanted to leave his.

"Breathe, Tony," a voice said, and that was Bruce’s, Tony could tell from the softness in it. "You're fine. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're safe."

"You kicked the door in," Tony said incredulously, opening his eyes, "you kicked the door in because I had a fucking anxiety attack, that's not the wisest of decisions--"

"I don't think well when I panic," Bruce said, "you've met the Other Guy."

"You're kind of hot when you smash things, you know that?" Tony said, trying to force a smile as he took a deep, shuddering breath. "You really should--" Tony trailed off when he felt a loss of contact as the two hands holding his left pulled back.

He turned to Steve, who was crouched at his side and slowly backing away.

"Don't leave," he said, reaching out to grab Steve's hand, "you -- you _fucking idiot,_ you were going to tell us you were leaving the team, weren't you?"

Steve froze. "How the hell do you know that?"

"Oh, great, they're psychic, now," Bruce muttered to himself.

"Because you were feeling guilty and all noble at the same time," Tony said bitterly, "and because that's the kind of fucking _stupid_ thing you'd do because you thought it was the right thing--"

"Hey, maybe you should calm down," Steve said firmly.

"You really think that's going to work?" Bruce sighed. "Come on, Tony, let's go sit in the bedroom. I'll make you some tea, or--"

"I don’t want any of your goddamn flavored hot water," Tony muttered to himself. "I want a real drink."

"That's probably not the best thing right now," Steve said as he and Bruce helped Tony to his feet and hovered obnoxiously around him. Tony made a beeline right to the minibar, but Bruce stopped him and placed two hands on his shoulders.

"Tony," Bruce said, "come on. Sit down, have a cup of tea, let's talk --"

"I don't want to talk," Tony snapped, "I want a drink. I want --"

"How do you turn this thing on?" Steve said suddenly from across the room. Tony looked over Bruce's shoulder to where Steve was standing crouched by coffee maker on the counter (he was rich, okay, coffee makers and minibars and teakettles and minifridges were perfectly normal things to have in his bedroom), fiddling with the buttons. He sighed, and Tony winced as he reset the time and date on the machine.

"No, you have to -- here," Tony said exasperatedly, and before he knew it, he was helping Steve fiddle with the coffee maker. "You have to put the coffee in _before_ you turn it on."

“And how would I know that? What happened to coffee grounds and stoves?” Steve grumbled as Tony opened a drawer to pull out one of the fancy cups to plug into the coffee maker. “This is ridiculous. It’s just coffee.”

"You're useless, you know," Tony said as he messed with the settings on the machine, "can't even operate a coffee maker. Even DUM-E can bring me coffee."

"When it isn't breaking glasses and test tubes," Bruce added bitterly from across the room. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Nice to know I rank lower than a robot," Steve muttered as Tony set a cup underneath the spout on the coffee maker. "'Specially one you keep threatening to give away."

"I think Stark Industries technically owns the rights to Captain America," Tony pointed out, "I could donate you to Canada if you aren't careful. Captain Canada."

"Can you donate _me_ to Canada?" Bruce grumbled, "I'd appreciate the time off from smashing."

"Sounds peaceful. I'll consider it," Steve replied, amused, "not sure I like the idea of being your kept man, though, Stark."

"Stop flirting with my boyfriend," Bruce warned, but Tony watched him smile while Steve turned around to apologize.

"He's kidding, Canada," Tony said casually, ruffling Steve's hair as he walked past him and over to Bruce. "He'd be homeless if he left me. Anyways, you're gorgeous, but not _quite_ my type." He bumped shoulders with Bruce.

"Stop flirting with Steve," Bruce sighed, bumping Tony back, "you're making him uncomfortable."

Tony snorted. "How 'bout we compromise? You two flirt, I'll watch."

"I’m sorry about him," Bruce said, talking around Tony to Steve, "he doesn't have an off button."

"Hmm, maybe not flirting," Tony spoke underneath them. "Let's see…"

"If I wasn't used to it by now, I'd probably be in Canada already," Steve replied, eyes sparkling with laughter.

Tony added, "I'll settle for a threesome."

Bruce turned to Tony, tilting his head sideways, as if to say "really?" Tony just took it in stride.

"Sorry," he said, "that was inappropriate. We should ask Barton first. He's your number one man-crush."

"I do not have a man-crush on Clint," Bruce sighed, "he's a little preoccupied with someone else."

"Who, Natasha?" Tony muttered, "I knew there was something--"

"Not Natasha," Bruce said, "and no, no threesomes, not while you're only bringing them up to make Steve uncomfortable and leave and avoid the conversation we should really be having."

Tony glared at Bruce head on -- not that he could argue with him and win -- and dared Bruce to say more.

"I think the coffee's perked," Steve added helpfully. Tony turned away from Bruce.

"Steve, hypothetically, would you have sex with Bruce and I? Hypothetically." Tony gestured in Steve's direction, but didn't even look over at him, staring at Bruce's incredulous look instead.

Bruce hissed, "Saying it's hypothetical doesn't make it any less inappropriate, Tony." He looked over to Steve and said, "Ignore him. He doesn't want to have sex with you," as Steve handed Tony the cup of coffee.

"That mean _you're_ still up for it?" Steve said with an evil glint in his eye that Tony recognized as something similar to his own. "Sorry, Dr. Banner, you sure are handsome, but I wouldn't want to get between you and Tony."

Bruce took one look between Tony and Steve and burst into laughter, bracing one hand on his stomach and throwing his head back.

"He is such a bad influence on you," Bruce said through his laughter. Steve hid a chuckle behind his hand.

"I'll be in my bunk," Tony quoted in a mutter, making Bruce laugh even harder. Steve just looked confused.

"Trust me, you don't want to have sex with him," Bruce confided when he finally calmed down, "he quotes _Firefly_ the entire time."

"I do not!" Tony protested. He took a sulky sip of his coffee.

Steve looked confused. "What's _Firefly_?" he asked. Tony gasped in mock horror.

"See?" he said, wrapping an arm around Bruce's shoulders, "you don't have to worry about me having sex with him, he's never even seen _Firefly_."

"Not sure I want to, now." Steve raised an eyebrow, to Bruce's apparent amusement. Tony bit his tongue to stop himself from asking, _“which one?”_

"Fine, that's it. Bruce -- you make the popcorn so Captain Tight Pants here doesn't break the microwave, I'll queue up some _Firefly_ for us on the TV in the living room, and Steve, you are going to be introduced to the wondrous show that is _Firefly_."

"Tony," Steve said seriously as Tony took a few steps away from them, making it look like he was actually going to the group living room to set up the television.

"We still need to talk," Brice said.

Tony turned with slumped shoulders and looked down into his cup of black coffee, the cup he didn't really want, the distraction he resented.

"I'm tired," he said quietly, looking down at his feet. "And you're exhausted, Bruce, we're all tired." He looked up. "We deserve a break."

Tony felt Steve size him up, knew that Steve could tell how drained he felt, how exhausted he was -- emotionally _and_ physically. He braced himself for Steve to say that talking would help, for him to use Tony's tired mind against him to help him win the argument, but he didn't say a word.

"We have to talk about this eventually," Bruce said, looking from Tony to Steve. "If you want to leave the team."

"I think…I was being hasty," Steve said. When Tony looked up at him, the firm set of his jaw told a different story, but Tony could tell. Steve was lying. For _him._ "It'd probably be the best if I stayed. But, Tony," and he looked at Tony now, and he wasn't lying, _fuck_ , "we gotta tell them soon. We can't go on like this."

"Alright," Tony lied. "We'll tell them sometime. Sometime soon. We can do that."

Bruce licked his lips, looking between Steve and Tony. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Okay," Tony said cheerfully, "now that that's cleared up -- _Firefly_ , anyone?"

Bruce sighed. He shook his head back and forth and, finally, rolled his eyes fondly.

"As long as that's not a metaphor for sex," Steve said, raising an eyebrow.

Tony just laughed and bumped shoulders with Bruce before leading him and Steve to the living room.

And if Tony checked his email every five minutes on his phone and fell asleep on Bruce's shoulder before they even finished the pilot episode, well, Tony considered it a success that he'd made Bruce forget how disappointed he was in Tony. At least, for now.

*

"Tony Stark," Charles Xavier said into the video call. "What a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tony grit his teeth and leaned forward on the workshop desk to smile into the camera. Xavier was alone in his office, as far as Tony could tell, with nothing but the rich furnishings of his mansion/school for mutants/X-Men headquarters behind him. Not that that meant their conversation was actually private, Tony thought, not when telepaths like Xavier were concerned.

"Professor," Tony greeted him with as much charm as he could muster, "how's the school?"

Xavier sighed, probably because he could tell Tony was about to ask for something. "Fine, as per usual."

"Good," Tony nodded, "look, I need your help." Xavier gave a tiny nod, as if it say, _there it is_. Tony took a deep breath. "See," he started, launching into the speech he'd prepared, "The Avengers are looking for someone. Not a mutant, don't worry, we're not infringing on your territory or whatever. Someone from our side's defected over to HYDRA, and we need to track her down before she divulges too many secrets."

"Cerebro won't work on non-mutants," Xavier said, "and, in this case, I'm not sure it would be wise to utilize the machine to uncover your rogue agent."

"Uh, actually, I was wondering if there was another way," Tony said haltingly, thrown off course by the interruption in his speech. He hated when someone interrupted him while he was trying to sell something, especially when he was trying to lie. "The agent in question is Bonded, and--"

"You're wondering if I can track them down through the Bond," Xavier sighed. Tony cut off, wondering vaguely if he'd misunderstood how Xavier's telepathy worked. "No, I don’t need telepathy to tell me what you’re thinking," Xavier shook his head. Tony looked awkwardly away from the video screen and down at the surface of his desk for a moment. "I've been asked that question before. If Bonds are an intangible connection between two, and in some cases, several people, and create a kind of telepathy between them, can I not access that?"

"The paper you wrote on the subject called it an 'empathic connection,'" Tony couldn't help but point out.

"Ah," Xavier smiled slightly, "so, you've done your homework." Tony smirked. He _always_ did his homework.

"Okay, so, you aren't an empath, but what about those who are?" he asked. "Have you ever been able to meet a mutant whose power could trace and manipulate Bonds?"

"Fortunately not," Xavier said, and Tony tried not to wince. "That does not mean that the ability does not exist, but I must say, I'm glad we have found no evidence of it yet. Manipulating one's emotions and changing the relationship of others without their consent is quite unethical, and horrifying, if you think about it."

 _What about the Bond?_ Tony wanted to scream, _Does no one think that_ it's _unethical?_

"So, you're saying that you can't sense the Bond yourself," Tony said bluntly. He resisted the urge to bring his hand to his chest and let his fingers tap a rhythm out on the desk instead.

"No," Xavier shook his head. "And I cannot manipulate, create, erase, or block Bonds. The mental level where the Bond exists is completely different than the levels on which empaths and telepaths operate. If that was the case, anti-telepathic blocks would work against it. In short, they do not." Xavier sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

"So, telepathy is a dead end?" Tony asked finally, just to be sure. He hadn't honestly expected it to work. If he had, he'd have chosen a better cover story, at least.

"My apologies," Xavier said, not sounding sorry at all.

"Well, thanks for helping me narrow down my options," Tony said, clenching his hands into fists out of view of the camera.

"Of course, Tony. Best of luck in finding your rogue operative." Xavier motioned to cut the feed, but Tony opened his mouth to speak.

"Wait," he said, aware from the look on Xavier's face that he'd come off a little more manic than he'd intended. "Um, we're trying to keep this on the down-low for now, actually, so if you kept the information about the rogue agent to yourself, I'd appreciate it," he said.

"As always, I shall be discreet," Xavier said with a smile. "Send Bruce my regards."

Tony ended the call and sighed, kicking the desk hard enough to send his wheeled chair a few feet backwards.

"Ow," he said as the kick caught up with his foot. "Ow," he said again as he rolled back to the desk.

Tony rested his head upon the wood, trying to ignore the sensations in the back of his mind that were Steve, drawing or listening to dumb old music or thinking about America or whatever the hell he did in his spare time.

"JARVIS?" Tony said, voice muffled by the desk, "how many names are left on the list?"

"Three, sir," JARVIS supplied, "and, as of yet, I have been unable to reach one contact."

"Great," Tony muttered. "Just _great_."

*

Tony awoke to the humming noises of his StarkPhone as it vibrated against his bedside table. He rolled carefully out from under Bruce's octopus-like grip and fumbled frantically for his phone to silence it, squinting when the brightness of the screen nearly blinded him in the relative darkness of the room.

_1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: CAPTAIN ASSHOLE_

Tony slid his finger across the phone to unlock it and blinked at the message on the screen.

_You busy?_

He was halfway through typing back, _yeah, sleeping_ , when his half-asleep brain got it.

 _are you trying to ask me if now's an okay time to jerk off? because, wow, if you're too shy to come right out and say it, we're gonna have to come up with a code,_ Tony sent with a smirk.

His phone lit up more quickly than he expected.

 _Is that a yes?_ Steve replied simply. Tony frowned when the message was followed by, _Did you turn off auto-capitalization just to seem casual? Really?_

 _fuck you_ , Tony sent. Steve apparently only took that as encouragement, because the next thing he knew, Tony felt arousal building in his stomach.

He rolled over, trying to push all thoughts of Steve out of his mind, and stopped when his shoulder bumped Bruce's.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Tony murmured in his ear. He wrapped an arm around Bruce as he woke and nuzzled his face into Bruce's neck from behind. "You still mad at me?" he whispered into Bruce's ear, sliding a hand down Bruce's bare chest to toy with the elastic waistband of his pajama pants.

"Aren't I always?" Bruce replied, his mind always much quicker to wake than Tony's. He dropped his hand over Tony's fingers as they wandered over the skin on his stomach, and Tony prepared to pull away at a word from Bruce. "But I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me…" He trailed off, guiding Tony's hand down into his pants, past his underwear. Bruce didn't gasp when Tony wrapped his fingers around his cock, but Tony did when he felt a simultaneous wave of arousal wash over him. His hips bucked, grinding his erection into Bruce's ass, and Bruce laughed for some reason.

"What?" Tony said, annoyed. In reply, Bruce turned from his side onto his back and kissed Tony, licking his way into his mouth and pressing Tony closer with a handful of his hair. Tony shifted to pull Bruce's pajama pants and underwear down and Bruce laughed again, the same laugh from before that had confused the hell out of Tony. Bruce didn't pull back to explain himself, though, and Tony wasn't going to complain about the way Bruce was kissing the breath out of him, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, licking and touching as he ghosted his fingers underneath the hem of Tony's black tank top.

He pulled back long enough for air, and then attacked Tony's neck with his mouth, biting down just hard enough for it to hurt, but not enough that Tony would even dream of complaining. Tony gasped and rutted harder as Bruce sucked on the spot, leaving a mark that was sure to show for days. He paused only to pull Tony's shirt over his head and throw it aside.

"Seriously, Bruce, do you _want_ everyone to know how often we're having rough, glorious, amazing sex?" Tony said breathlessly when Bruce focused on marking him higher -- not that he was complaining, really.

"That's the idea," Bruce whispered into Tony's ear just as breathlessly.

"Oh, well," Tony whimpered, "that's perfectly fine with me." Just as Tony was about to lean forward to kiss him again, Bruce pulled back to shuck off his pants (gracelessly, but Tony didn’t care) and throw them off the bed. As Bruce crawled across the bed to his bedside table for a condom, Tony wriggled his own pants off and kicked them onto the floor. He flopped back onto the mattress and shut his eyes as he was hit by another wave of arousal and pleasure that left him moaning and thrusting into his own hand.

He opened his eyes when Bruce appeared over him, straddling him with his knees tight around Tony's hips.

"I'm trying to think of a _Firefly_ quote," Tony gasped, "but I'm kind of coming up blank right now. _Damn_ , you're beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?" He twisted his hand around his cock as Bruce just stared speechlessly at him, his kiss-swollen mouth hanging half-open. Tony moaned.

" _Tony_ ," Bruce whimpered in a voice broken and heavy. Tony grinned at the sound and the knowledge that _he'd_ done that to Bruce.

Bruce reached down to grab Tony's wrist. He pulled Tony's hands away from his dick in a loose grip, leaving Tony groaning and thrusting his hips into thin air, desperate for friction.

"Bruce," he panted, " _please_." Bruce chuckled again infuriatingly and used his hands as leverage as he leaned forward. He pinned Tony to the mattress with his knees and his hands.

"This okay?" Bruce said, loosening his grip on Tony when all Tony wanted was Bruce to just _hold him down and fuck him already._

From the way Bruce chuckled, Tony had a feeling he'd said that last part out loud.

"Brain-to-mouth filter?" he muttered.

"Not fully functioning," Bruce smirked, pressing Tony down harder, "that what you want? Me to fuck you?"

"Do I ever," Tony groaned, thrusting his hips against Bruce's stomach. "Or anything, really, just as long as you don't fucking _let go,_ Bruce, _damn,_ you're gorgeous, did you know that?"

Bruce ducked his head as he pulled back from Tony, fumbling on the bed for a few moments until he uncapped the lube and poured some into his hand.

"Come on, Bruce, haven't got all --" And if he _didn't always do that_ , cut Tony off right in the middle of his banter like the drama queen he was, Bruce fucking Banner, queen of dramatic fucking and anger and whatever the hell else he did. Tony moaned and twisted at the sensation of Bruce's finger deep inside him, hot and good but _not enough_ , because he was a _tease_ as well.

"You know," Bruce said as he pushed another finger slowly into Tony. "People who say you have no filter to begin with have never seen you before your morning coffee."

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony said as Bruce thrust his fingers gently, and then added, “Those people haven’t seen me like you have.”

"The Internet disagrees," Bruce said dryly.

"Low blow. If you'd actually watched the sex tapes like you pretend you have, you'd know how wrong you -- fuck," Tony swore as Bruce stretched him out with a final finger. "C'mon, Banner, fuck me already," Tony said, reaching down to palm his cock. Bruce swatted his hand away.

"Bossy," Bruce said, maneuvering himself down and pulling his fingers out slowly. Tony bit down on his lip at the loss of contact. "Are we back on a last name basis, now?"

"You listen better when I use your last name," Tony said. "What if I called you 'doctor?' Dr. Banner, just fuck me al --" Tony trailed off as Bruce began to fill him slowly, carefully, the slick heat and friction enough to subset the slight burning. Bruce sighed as his dick slid into Tony and stilled, to Tony’s exasperation. Tony gasped and thrusted wildly until Bruce's hands came down to still his hips, leaving cold traces of lube against his skin.

"Is this a roundabout way of asking me to call you 'Mr. Stark?'" Bruce huffed as he thrust slowly into Tony. Tony moaned and reached for his cock, but Bruce grabbed his wrists again, this time more firmly, and Tony went limp in his grip.

Tony searched for words, panting, "Does no one remember that I have, like, six doctorates?” as his back arched up off the mattress, driving Bruce deeper into him. Bruce pressed Tony into the mattress and thrust even more slowly at that. Tony groaned in frustration.

"What are they in?" Bruce asked, leaving Tony floundering for words.

"Electrical engineering," he started, because that was easy, "and physics," and then thinking became a lot _less_ easy as Bruce thrusted faster. "Fuck," he moaned.

"I didn't know you could --" Bruce panted heavily, "-- major in fucking."

" _You_ probably could," Tony moaned as Bruce angled his hips upwards and deeper until he hit Tony's prostate. "How the _fuck_ do you do that?"

"Practice," Bruce said. “Apparently, fucking is one of my doctorates."

"I hate you," Tony muttered. He closed his eyes, giving himself away to the feeling of Bruce's slick skin against his, the heat growing between them, the tightening of his muscles around Bruce's cock. He was almost there -- almost, he could feel his own waves of lust overtaking the ones washing over him. "I hate you, so, so much."

"I love you, too," Bruce laughed, thrusting harder and holding Tony tightly against the sheets. Bruce didn't say anything after that, his voice overtaken by wordless moans as he fucked Tony into the mattress. His thrusts became more sporadic until he came. It only took a few moments of Bruce, spilling into him and calling Tony's name until Tony could hear hopeless breathy noises coming from the back of his own throat. He didn't even realize Bruce had released one of his hands until he felt Bruce's hand on his cock, warm, slick, and soft, sending him over the edge and into pure, white bliss.

Tony didn't black out -- there was no way Tony Stark blacked out after amazing sex, and he sure as hell didn’t doze off -- but the moments after the aftershocks, between Bruce slowly pulling out and disappearing from his side to dispose of the condom, they were lost to him, at least.

"Hey," Bruce said softly, jolting Tony to his senses with a wet washcloth.

"Fuck, that's cold," Tony grumbled, opening his eyes as Bruce carefully swept the cloth over his skin. "We could just take a shower, you know," he said, squinting at Bruce lazily.

"We both took one last night," Bruce said, "It would be a waste of water."

"You're so...green," Tony said like an insult. Bruce gave him an unimpressed look. "Environmentally conscious. Whatever." Tony waved his hand in the air.

Bruce threw a dry towel at Tony's head for him to dry himself off with and disappeared to return the wet washcloth to the bathroom. Tony stretched out on the bed, listening to his joints crack and groan. Bruce came back into the room and collapsed onto the bed, allowing Tony to sweep him up into his arms and hold him close. Tony buried his face in Bruce's hair and breathed in deeply the smell of mint and citrus -- the smell of Bruce. He felt Bruce smile into his chest.

"I really do love you, you know," Tony muttered into Bruce's hair. "I know we've had the whole 'don't talk about love during slash after sex' talk, but seriously, I'm not just saying this because of the orgasm. I love you."

"I know," Bruce's muffled reply, accompanied by a shaky laugh, vibrated through Tony's sternum and filled up his chest with its weight.

"Now who's quoting?" Tony lifted his head and cupped Bruce's chin, pulling him up for a quick kiss. Bruce smiled into the kiss. His expression didn’t waver, even when they pulled apart.

"What?" Bruce said. It must have been the look on Tony's face, but he tilted his head to the side and smiled, a puzzled look on his face as he stared at Tony. "Tony, what is it?"

Tony opened his mouth before he could stop himself. "Why do you keep laughing like that?" he asked, pressing his lips together the moment he was done speaking. "I mean, besides in response to my irresistible sense of humor." Bruce took the time to blink skeptically at Tony before he responded.

"It's just…" Tony watched as Bruce brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, like he always did when he felt embarrassed over some silly little thing. "Sometimes I can't believe that I’m here with you…that you want _me_ , of all people. It just seems kind of ridiculous to me."

"Of course I do," was all Tony could think to say as he held Bruce closely to him, tangling their feet together in the sheets bunched at the foot of the bed.

*

 _Ssst._ The pancake batter sizzled as Thor poured more onto the griddle.

Tony ignored the smells of bacon and maple syrup and focused on the task at hand.

"C'mon," he muttered, tapping his finger against the spluttering coffee maker, "if you don't hurry up, I'll disassemble you and use you for spare parts."

He heard Natasha murmur to Bruce over the kitchen table, "Has he even installed AI in the coffee maker?"

"No," Tony answered her himself, "but maybe it would _hurry up_ if it knew what kind of danger it was in."

"Have patience," Thor said. He flipped a pancake and it landed perfectly. Show off.

Bruce snorted. "What did we say about installing software in kitchen appliances?"

"You're just worried we'll have an incident like the oven in The Carousel of Progress, but I keep telling you, my tech is way smarter than that," Tony grumbled. Bruce rolled his eyes, and Tony stuck out his tongue in response.

"Children," Natasha warned, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a hint at fondness.

With a beep that startled Tony, the coffee maker finished pumping, and the last of the coffee dripped into the pot. Sighing, Tony picked up the pot to fill his mug.

"Hey, Tony," Bruce said sweetly, holding out his coffee cup, "would you be a dear and --" Bruce cut off when Tony glared over at him and bit back a laugh.

"You know how unfavorable the good doctor is before his morning coffee," Thor warned Tony with a glint in his eye.

Tony begrudgingly shuffled over to the table to fill Bruce's mug. Bruce set his cup down and pulled Tony down for a quick kiss. While he was distracted, Natasha grabbed the coffee pot out of his hands.

"Hey!" he protested, but Tony didn't dare try to reclaim his coffee.

"Morning," Clint said as he entered the kitchen with a horrible case of bed-head and his pajamas still on (or maybe he always looked like that, Tony wasn't sure). "Aw yeah," he said, "coffee." Clint grabbed the pot out of Natasha's hands and took a drink straight from the pot. He slumped into the chair beside Natasha and sighed as he pulled the still half-filled pot from his lips.

"Ew," Tony groaned, watching his beautiful coffee being guzzled down. "Barton," he threatened, "I swear to god--"

"Yes?" Thor interjected.

As the others burst into laughter, Tony turned to glare at Thor, with his plate of pancakes and shit-eating grin, but was interrupted.

"Am I gonna have to break up a fight?" Steve said genially. Tony turned to watch him enter the kitchen, obviously freshly showered after his morning run. Their eyes met for a long moment.

"Captain!" Thor said cheerfully and far too loudly -- _morning people_ , _pfft_. "I did not know you were still staying at the Tower! Please, take a seat, have some pancakes! Did you spend the night, as Clint did?"

"Yeah, Steve," Clint said in a faux-warm tone, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair, "why _have_ you been hanging around at the Tower so much lately?" Clint raised an eyebrow in Tony's direction. Tony turned away from Steve and sat down next to Bruce. Thor began to fork out the pancakes.

"It's just temporary," Steve said, glancing at Clint with a question in his eyes. Tony could feel his uneasiness curl up like a ball. "I'm --"

"His lease is up, and he's thinking about moving in permanently," Tony interrupted. "Guess it wasn't such a beautiful day in the neighborhood after all." He felt Bruce's eyes on him. Steve, to his credit, didn't look like this was news to him. He nodded and walked around Clint to sit on the other side of Natasha.

"It'd be more convenient," Steve said, shooting a curious glance at Tony. He nodded towards the team then tilted his head to the side, as if to ask, _Now?_

Tony swallowed as panic rushed into his chest and stayed there, burning away, like the arc reactor was back. He shook his head back and forth quickly and cast his eyes down.

"So much for solidarity," Clint muttered. "You all gonna move in and make me feel left out?"

"Why _are_ you here, Barton?" Tony spat suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest. Steve stretched out in his seat, and Tony felt Steve's bare leg brush his ankle in some strange attempt at comfort. Tony pulled away.

"The finale of _Dog Cops_ was on last night," he said, meeting Tony's glare. "My cable's screwy."

"Only because you tried to fix it yourself," Natasha muttered, twirling her fork with a smirk.

"Why not move into the Tower with the rest of us?" Thor asked, sitting down to his personal stack of pancakes. "You spend much time here, the both of you," he nodded at Steve.

Steve shrugged. Clint looked down at his pancakes and violently cut them into even pieces.

"I don't know," he said. "I like my apartment."

"You should stay there," Bruce said, raising his mug to take a sip of coffee. "You'd go crazy living with these guys," he smiled, "and you already have a nice place." Natasha nodded in agreement.

"I guess," Clint shrugged, staring into his stolen pot of coffee. "Feels a little empty sometimes. Too big." Tony rolled his eyes.

"What?" Tony snorted, "Your ego isn't big enough for the place?" He could tell from the double glare Bruce and Natasha sent him that it was the wrong thing to say.

"You can talk, Stark," Clint sneered, "you're the one who built a gigantic goddamn Tower and rooms for people without even asking first."

"At least I've got people who actually want--" Tony started, but he was cut off.

"Enough," Steve said, raising his voice into the stern, clipped tones of Captain America. Everyone in the room stilled except for Tony, who settled back in his chair and hugged his arms to his chest, trying to push down the feeling that told him he was acting like a child.

"This is why you don't live at the Tower," Bruce said, looking between Clint and Tony, "the two of you have to act like dicks all the time."

"You know, last time I checked," Clint drawled, "it wasn't Stark and I who were the problem couple. Anything you'd like to share with the class, Rogers?" Angrily, Clint pushed back from the table and stood up. He turned and stalked out of the kitchen without another word.

Natasha sighed loudly and set down her fork. "Idiot," she muttered.

"Yeah," Tony huffed in agreement. Her head snapped up.

"Do you honestly believe that you aren't included in that sentiment?" she snarled. "Come on, Stark, he may be an asshole sometimes, but you baited him."

"No," Tony snapped back, "Barton's got a stick up his ass, he has since last weekend."

"Tony," Bruce said as a warning. Natasha's eyebrows rose disdainfully at Tony's outburst.

"Don't _Tony_ me," Tony replied, "I'm tired of being treated like a child. I am perfectly --"

"That is because your actions have been those of a child," Thor interrupted him. Tony looked over at Thor, who had abstained from most of their arguing in favor of finishing off his pancakes. "I was not present at the battle this past week's end, and I cannot fully pass judgment on your actions. However, I have seen their aftermath," Thor said, and Tony wondered when Thor had stopped being a muscular-but-lovable god and turned into six feet of stern disapproval, "and your attitude makes it clear that even you question your priorities."

"Thor--"

"You have a stout heart, Stark, and you are not one to obey orders," Thor continued over Tony's protests, "but you do not doubt the choices you make in the heat of battle. For you to express your misgivings now makes me wonder what has happened to your heart."

With that, Thor stood, pushed in his chair, set his plate in the sink, and left the room.

"He's right, you know," Bruce said in a low voice. Tony stood up abruptly, his chair making a screeching noise as it scraped against the kitchen floor, drawing the eyes of the three remaining.

"Yeah, except he's not," Tony sneered, "because no one here has any _fucking_ idea what's going on inside my head, as much as they act like they do."

"Then maybe you should _tell them_ ," Steve murmured, pointedly glancing at Natasha, who looked down at her plate.

Tony didn't dignify that with an answer before he stalked out.

*

"Miss Potts is calling," JARVIS informed Tony. He slumped farther down into his seat.

"Um, _no_ , ignore," Tony slurred. "Ignore," he said again when JARVIS doesn't respond.

"Tony?" Pepper's voice rang out through the workshop. Tony ran his hands over his face and closed his eyes. "You are _not_ ignoring this call. You've been avoiding me for weeks! I need to talk to you, the board has been riding me about developing those prototypes, and I keep getting letters from -- have you been drinking?"

Tony begrudgingly looked up at the video call projected in front of him. "No, where would you get that idea?" he said. Pepper's face, first pinched with worry, shifted into an unimpressed expression.

"Tony, I can see the bottle," she said, "what's wrong? What's happened? You aren't dying again, are you? Where's Bruce, have you--"

"I really don’t want to talk to Bruce about this," Tony muttered. "I just -- what do you want, Pepper?" he asked, pouring himself another drink.

"We need to do some press for the -- you know what, that doesn't matter. Tony, what's wrong?" Pepper asked firmly. "Tell me."

"It's not important," Tony shook his head, "it's really not."

"Of course it's important," Pepper said, "I want to know if--"

"Don't worry about it, it doesn’t concern you--"

"If it concerns you, it concerns me, Tony, I'm your--"

"I'm Bonded to _Captain Fucking America_!" Tony yelled. His voice rang in the air as Pepper stared at him silently.

"Oh, Tony," she said, her voice quiet. "I'm sorry."

He supposed he should have been thankful that she didn't congratulate him, say she was happy for him, but something about her words stung.

"Yeah, well, I am, too," Tony said.

"Are you and Bruce--?"

"Bruce knows. He's not happy with it. Not sure he's happy with me right now, either. Not that he ever is."

"You know that's not true," Pepper replied softly. "He loves you. He really does."

"Yeah, right," Tony huffs, "I'm sure he's just peachy now that I've Bonded with Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood."

“What does Steve think about all of this?” Pepper asked.

“I don’t know,” Tony shrugged, refusing to feel chagrinned about his answer. He didn’t know, not really. He could only judge from Steve’s emotions and what little Steve told him. Even then, he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too hard.

“Hmm,” Pepper said noncommittally, not judging his apathy at all for once. "Have you told the team?" she asked next, changing the subject.

"Don't worry, you aren't the last to know," he said, waving his hand around in the air, "we -- I haven't told them yet. And don't tell me I should, because--"

"I'm not going to," Pepper shook her head. "This is your business, Tony, yours and Cap's," she said firmly. "You two can tell them if you _want_ to. You don't have to."

"And what if they figure it out?" he asked, "what if they get upset that--"

"They're your team, Tony," she said. "They aren't going to kick you off because of you and Steve. You and the Hulk get along together just fine on the battlefield."

"They know something's up," Tony said. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. Pepper frowned, like she wanted to reach through the screen and smooth it down. "They're mad at me…I saved Steve. There was a building that collapsed on him--"

"I saw. It was on the news."

"--And I went after him instead of helping Hulk and Barton," Tony huffed. "They're pissed because they think my judgment's compromised. They think I'm fucking him."

" _Are_ you fucking him?" Pepper asked.

"Of course not!" Tony said indignantly, staring at her in disbelief, "I wouldn't do that to Bruce, you know I wouldn't."

She tilted her head to the side. "Did Hawkeye and the Hulk get by without you?" she asked.

"Obviously," Tony said, gesturing wildly, "or else they wouldn't _fucking be here_ , which is what I keep--"

"Then you made the right call," Pepper nodded.

"What?" Tony said, his voice cracking over the word. He winced.

"You helped your team, whether they see it that way or not," Pepper said. "I've seen you make tough choices, Tony, choices I wouldn't wish on anyone. And I think, this time, you made the choice that was the best for you, for Steve, and for the Avengers. All of the Avengers."

"It wasn't like I saved his life…" Tony trailed off. "I just…I thought we were finally over the fights, Pep. All of us. Me, Steve…Bruce. And now…"

"Do you want me to fly in?"

"No," Tony shook his head a little too quickly, making stars burn into his vision. "You can stay and do…CEO things…I'll be fine."

"Good,” Pepper sighed, “you wouldn’t believe how busy I am…” she trailed off and bit her lip. “Can I ask you something, Tony?" she asked, "and I don't want you getting offended by this, I just --"

"Shoot," Tony said.

"Are you in love with him? I mean, with Steve. Do you love him?"

Tony took a moment to look at Pepper's projection. She stared at him with wide-eyed concern and he stared back, wondering why she'd called him in the first place, why she didn't have better things to do, and how much time had passed since breakfast if it was late morning in California...

"Pepper," Tony started, and then stopped, thinking of Steve. The way he smiled, the way he laughed, how his blue eyes hardened in determination. How he stubbornly powered through any obstacle in front of him. How he looked Tony, not like he was a problem, but like he was a solution. As if he could read Tony's mind (and Tony sure as hell hoped he couldn't), Tony felt Steve's worry faintly from somewhere else inside the Tower.

"You don't have to--"

"No," Tony said firmly. "I mean, he's my teammate, and I -- but I'm not. In love. With him." He swallowed. "I care about him -- and how fucking messed up is that? That the only reason I went after him was because I knew he was in pain? Because I could feel--" Tony broke off and covered his eyes with a hand, blocking out the sight of Pepper's concerned expression. "I could feel it, when he went down. It wasn't like real pain, but he was in danger. And all I could think to do was help him. I wasn't thinking about the team. I wasn't thinking about AIM. I was being selfish."

Pepper made a humming noise. When Tony looked up, she was shaking her head on the feed.

"You did it because you wanted to help Steve, Tony," she murmured. “That's the most selfless thing I could imagine you doing in that moment."

"If you look at it like that," he snorted under his breath.

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically, "you know you can call me, if you ever need to talk."

"Don't you have a company to run?" Tony joked, forcing a grin. Pepper smiled sadly at him. "You know what, I'll call you tomorrow," he promised. "We'll talk."

"You better," Pepper warned.

Tony ended the call. He stared at his nearly empty glass and pushed himself away from the workbench.

*

_3:04 AM._

_3:05 AM._

The numbers on his alarm clock taunted him as they flashed, counting down another minute in which Tony couldn't get to sleep. He tossed and turned in his empty bed, twisting the white sheets around himself. It was no use.

"JARVIS?" Tony said, sitting up, "any word from Bruce?"

"He has not left any messages since his last. Shall I call him?" JARVIS' voice intoned from the hidden speakers.

"No, it's fine," Tony said quickly throwing his legs off the bed. "He's probably just at Barton's place." He got to his feet, ignoring the rush of blood that sent stars swimming into his vision.

"Would you like me to contact Mr. Barton's residence?" JARVIS asked.

"No," Tony said quickly as he stopped at the other side of the room and pulled a bottle out of the cabinet and some ice from the refrigerator to pour himself a drink. He took a swig and closed his eyes. "He'll come home eventually," he said to himself, thinking, _I wish I could read Bruce._

Tony opened his eyes and began, "Is --," but he cut himself off.

"Yes, sir?" JARVIS asked. Tony tapped his fingernail against the perspiration on his glass tumbler. When he didn't answer, JARVIS said, "Captain Rogers is asleep in his suite."

Tony let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in.

"Thanks, JARVIS," he muttered and, before he could stop himself, Tony was out the door and in the elevator to Steve's floor, drink still in hand.

As the elevator descended, he wished Bruce was there. If Bruce was there, he'd make Tony some of his herbal tea (one of the ones that had words like "organic" and "anti-oxidants" on the homemade label from some local farmer’s market) and force him to drink it. Tony would pretend he hated it more than he did, but drink it all the same, press his face into Bruce's shoulder, and mutter complaints about the unfairness of life and his nightmares and Reed Richards, that son of a bitch.

 _Ding._ The elevator stopped, startling Tony. He strolled through the open doors and down the hall to Steve's door. He rapped on it sharply with his knuckles, ignoring the way that the ice rattled in the glass in his other hand. Steve might not listen to him, after all. Steve wasn't going to make him tea, or hold him, or put up with any of Tony's bullshit. He didn’t have to.

Tony turned on his heel to leave.

"Tony?" Steve answered the door. Tony hesitated before he turned. Steve looked sleep-rumpled and tired as he scratched at the stubble on his jaw and stood in the doorway in nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants. "What's wrong?" Steve looked around the hallway, as if he was expecting half the team to be assembled there as well.

"You're not Bruce," Tony blurted out, staring at him. Steve looked Tony up and down.

"No, I'm a bit more muscular," he said, taking it all in stride.

"Nine times out of ten," Tony replied. He pressed his glass to his chest, half expecting it to clink as it hit the metal edge of the arc reactor. When it didn't, Tony started a little, but the cold moisture of the glass brought him back as it sunk through his thin back t-shirt.

Steve shrugged. Tony brushed past him and into his room without invitation, his mouth moving of its own accord. "I mean, you aren't _like_ Bruce. When he's angry with me -- which is a lot, unsurprisingly -- he talks to me about it. He yells at me or we talk, or he goes off and gets his precious space. He doesn't hold it in."

"He's gotta live with a lot of anger," Steve said as he shut the door behind him.

"Yeah, probably why he chose me," Tony said with a half-hearted chuckle, looking down. "But you… _you_ just hold it in."

"Not sure I agree with you there." Steve crossed his arms.

Tony gave him a look of disbelief. "You're mad at me," he said plainly, gesturing with his quarter-full glass. "I can tell. The whole damn _team_ is mad at me, Bruce is mad at me, even JARVIS thinks I should call Bruce, and SHIELD --"

"I'm not mad at you," Steve said. He walked over to Tony and tugged the glass from his grip. Helplessly, Tony watched as Steve walked into his bathroom and poured it out in the sink. When he walked back into the room, Tony scowled at him.

"You're doing an awfully good impression of it," Tony snapped. "What do you call that emotion, then, the one I'm feeling that seems to tell me that you're pissed off in my general direction?"

"I'm not too happy that you woke me up at three in the morning," Steve said as he walked back over to his bed and began to smooth the crumpled covers back into place.

"Fine, that's fair, but you're still angry that I--"

"Not angry. Disappointed," Steve said, turning away from the bed. "Bitter. Frustrated. What else do you want? Me to scream at you? You think I'm tired? I'm tired of fighting. Of seeing the team yell at you. If that's not the answer you want, fine, but --"

"I think we should tell the team," Tony blurted out. Steve's mouth snapped shut and he stared at Tony unblinkingly. Tony waited for him to say _"I told you so,"_ or _"about time."_

"You sure we're ready?" Steve said instead. Tony was about to speak when Steve's words caught up in his mind. _We._ He and Steve, the two of them, the pair of them, ready. Together.

"No," Tony said honestly. "I can think of half a million ways that we'll fuck this up. But I'm always thinking of how it's going to go wrong." His stomach lurched at the thought.

"Fine, then," Steve sighed, "are you sure you want to do this?" He sat on his bed. The motion was heavy somehow, as though his knees couldn’t hold up his weight any longer.

"You're not going to get a 'yes' answer from me if you keep asking questions like that," Tony said. "I'm not doing this because I think it'll be easy and end in a group hug. It's going to suck. But I have to -- _we_ have to tell them. I'm sick of hiding this."

"Me, too," Steve agreed. "So," he rubbed his fingers against the stubble on the side of his jaw absentmindedly, "how are we going to tell them?"

"You're the Star Spangled Man With A Plan," Tony snorted. He thought of all the possibilities, all the reactions of the team. He felt an ember of panic ignite in his chest and tried to force it away. Steve looked up at Tony, concerned.

"We don't have to--"

"We have to," Tony said firmly, ignoring the burning in his chest and walking over to the bed to sit beside Steve. "I, uh, I told Pepper," he swallowed. "Sorry." Steve just shrugged.

"I could call a team meeting," Steve said. "Sometime next wee--"

"Tomorrow," Tony said quickly. "It has to be tomorrow. Before I change my mind, or Fury catches wind of it.

"Do…group breakfasts...happen a lot?" Steve asked.

"Thor, Bruce, and I, that's kind of a thing," Tony shrugged. "Clint and Natasha are kind of a package deal. I could get Bruce to get Clint."

"Natasha will come, then. If she hasn't figured it out already, I'll eat my hat," Steve said. It made sense, now that Tony thought about it.

"It's a cowl," Tony said, nudging Steve with his elbow. Steve smiled, a soft expression that didn't quite meet his eyes the way Tony hoped, but Tony's stomach hadn't yet quieted. They were going to tell the team.

 _This is it,_ Tony thought, _the moment of truth._ It all hinged on the team's reaction, and, while Tony would bet on them in any other situation, he wasn't sure how well this one would go over. Especially since Thor and Clint already thought he was emotionally compromised when it came to Steve.

"Hey," Steve said softly, "may I?"

At Tony's nod, Steve moved to press himself against Tony's side, their thighs and shoulders bumping. Tony sighed and let Steve pull him close, against his shoulder. He didn't hold him, not quite, but Tony laid his head on Steve's warm, bare shoulder and let Steve rest their heads together. Tony wasn't sure who was comforting who; Steve's skin smelled all wrong, like leather and spice and boot polish and --

"Is that vanilla?" Tony murmured into Steve's shoulder. Steve's head shifted, and Tony was sure he was smiling where Tony couldn't see him.

"What, I can't wear cologne?" Steve chuckled, his laughter vibrating through Tony's skull. Tony smiled into Steve's shoulder and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Steve's breathing like the waves of the ocean. His fingers tingled as they brushed against Steve's bare arm. Tony felt his palms itch, itch to touch. He wanted to spread his hands over Steve's skin, to pull him close and explore every inch. Steve swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and Tony imagined Steve's mouth, red and swollen and --

"Tony," Steve said, almost sternly. Tony lifted his head to look at Steve. Inches away, Tony looked right into his blue eyes and felt his heart pounding in his ears. Steve was gorgeous, really, as much as Tony tried to tell himself he wasn't. He felt warm air on his face for a moment before Steve's breath caught in his throat, and Tony wavered an inch closer.

"We can't," Steve whispered, their mouths so close, his head already tilted to the side.

"I know," Tony said. He swallowed, pulling back, and crawled back onto Steve's bed, separating himself from Steve. "I know. I know," he repeated, telling himself that he couldn't.

"You need to get some sleep," Steve said, pulling away as well. "We both do. Tomorrow's…" he didn't finish his sentence.

"I can't," Tony shook his head, "couldn't before. Doubt I can now. I'll go," he said, shifting to the edge of the bed to sit. "I’ll tinker or something in the lab. Call me up when breakfast--"

  
"No," Steve said firmly, reaching out a hand to catch Tony's wrist. His searing touch made Tony freeze. "You need to get some rest."

"Fine," Tony muttered, shifting back onto the bed and lying back with his hands tucked under his head. "I'll stay off my feet. Put on a movie, will you."

"I'll take the couch," Steve sighed, sitting up and grabbing for a pillow. Tony sat up in a flash, and it was his turn to stop Steve.

"Stay," he said simply. "I can't," he exhaled, tried to rearrange his thoughts and the words coming out of his mouth, "I can't sleep," he said. "Not in an empty bed. Not tonight."

"Bruce --" Steve started.

"Bruce will be fine with some platonic napping," Tony waved a hand as he pulled Steve down onto the bed. It didn’t take much effort, considering Steve's heft. "Here, if you insist," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to snap a picture of him and Steve, sitting up in bed. He plastered on a wide smile and a thumps up, and when he checked the picture on his phone, let out a roar of laughter that was only a little forced.

Onscreen, Steve stared at him, unimpressed, tired, and rumpled from his interrupted sleep. His lack of amusement at the situation was apparent on his face, especially next to Tony’s goofy expression.

"Honeybunches, comma," Tony narrated as he typed into his phone, "Can't sleep, period. Captain Canada here to the rescue, period. I promise we won't have fun without you, period. 'Y' slash 'N' question mark."

"I'm right here," Steve said dryly from Tony's side, "I can see what you're typing. You really do turn off the auto-capitalization." Tony frowned as he sent the text.

"Hm, I didn't know they had reading in the forties," Tony said in a mock serious tone. Surprisingly, Steve cracked a smile.

"Actually--" Steve started, but he was cut off from the buzz of Tony's phone.

 _Only if I can have a cuddle-buddy, too,_ Bruce's reply read, accompanied by a fuzzy picture of Bruce and Clint on Clint's couch, Bruce with one arm wrapped around Clint and the other taking the picture, Clint with his arms around Bruce and his lips pursed on the side of Bruce's face. Tony let out a peal of laughter, and Steve chuckled softly.

"See?" Tony said, turning his phone at an angle out of Steve's sight so he could set the picture as his wallpaper and send Bruce a reply, "now we _have_ to."

"Fine," Steve said, "not like it's a chore." He pulled the covers and sheets back and crawled into bed, stretching out like Tony wasn't sitting on the other side. He turned out the lights, leaving the room darkened except for the bluish glow of Tony's phone.

"Hey," Steve said a few moments later, when Tony made no sign of moving. "Tony. Sleep," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Tony said, not listening.

" _Sleep,_ " Steve said, pulling Tony by the wrist. Tony fumbled with his phone, turned the screen off, and crawled under the covers.

"Fine, okay, okay," Tony said as he rested his head on the pillow. It smelled like vanilla, too. He wrinkled his nose and turned it over, fluffing it up a few times. "Goodnight, room,” he narrated. “Goodnight, Stars and Stripes. Goodnight, Hulk jumping over a…pit of spikes.” Tony paused. “Was _Goodnight, Moon_ after your time?"

"Tony," Steve grumbled into his pillow, "shut up."

*

"Are you sure about this?" Steve asked in the doorway to the kitchen. Tony could feel Bruce behind him, the tension they always tried so hard to work out of him rebuilding. Steve, on the other hand, felt like courage and hope and…pride, somehow, which Tony didn't understand. "Tony?" Steve asked again, undoubtedly feeling his fear.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he said with forced casualness. Steve reached over and brushed his fingers over Tony's elbow. The touch grounded him; he craved and resented it all at once. "Let's get this over with."

Tony ignored Steve's concerned look and walked into the kitchen. Bruce and Clint had brought back doughnuts. Thor sat at the table with six stacked on his plate. Next to him, Natasha and Clint murmured to each other between sips of coffee and bites of doughnut; he'd wonder what Bruce told Clint and Clint told Natasha to coax them here, but he didn't much care right now.

"Good morning, my friends," Thor said cheerfully. He took a bite out of a bright-pink iced doughnut.

"Morning," Bruce said politely, walking around the table and towards the coffee pot.

Tony sat numbly in his seat, not reaching for a doughnut, until Bruce appeared at his elbow with a cup of coffee. Tony accepted it with open hands. Bruce smiled at him, patted him on the shoulder, and sat by his side.

Steve, on the other hand, waved off the coffee pot and set a doughnut on his plate.

"Yep, morning," Clint muttered, "sleep well?" He raised an eyebrow and glared at Tony. Tony opened his mouth to snap back, but Steve beat him to it.

"Look," Steve said, "I know things have been tense lately. I get it." Clint slumped back in his seat, arms crossed like an ill-tempered child, but he didn't interrupt Steve. "Doesn't mean we have to track back to how it used to be. Just think, two years ago, we barely even knew what we were doing. We were just a bunch of guys in over their heads. Look at us now," he said, gesturing across the table. "We're a team."

Tony tuned out after that, choosing instead to stare at the wood grain of the table. He remembered the first time they all sat down together at breakfast, barely a year ago when they decided to remain a team permanently, six months ago at the dinner where Tony let slip that he and Bruce were serious, the night where none of them could sleep and Thor made hot chocolate while Natasha and Clint shared stories about Coulson’s life. He thought of all the important things that happened at this table and of the inconsequential, all the while Steve spoke about teamwork and patriotism, or whatever the hell he always talked about.

Bruce squeezed Tony's hand under the table once, meaningfully.

"And that's why we've got to stick together," Steve was saying, "because, without --"

"Steve and I Bonded," Tony blurted out. Steve looked over at him, exasperation in his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak. "Yep, okay, that's that," Tony said, cutting him off and looking back down at the table. "We touched, sparks flew -- I mean, there were explosions and a broken robot, so literal sparks -- and what do you know, two peas in a pod. Close your mouths, you all look like fishes."

"What Tony's trying to say," Steve started.

"No," Tony snapped, looking up. "No, I'm not _trying_ to say anything. I am saying this. We. Are. Bonded. Congratu-fucking-lations, now you all know why Steve's been hanging around and why I jumped after him the other day. That said, it's probably better I left the team. Can I go now?" He stood up, pushing the chair back with the intent to leave the kitchen, but Bruce grabbed his wrist.

"Stark," Natasha said slowly. "No one wants you to leave the team."

Slowly, very slowly, he turned back to look at the others. Natasha watched him with an unreadable expression, which just _figured_. She’d probably worked it out weeks ago. Clint didn't look shocked or surprised, but his knuckles had turned white where he was clenching his hands into fists, driving his nails into his palms. Thor, to Tony's relief, didn't look as though he was about to congratulate them, instead, he looked somber.

"Come on, Tony," Bruce said softly, "sit down." Tony did, bracing his hands on the table and watching carefully as Clint's gaze zeroed in on Bruce and the cogs turned in his head.

"I second Natasha," Thor nodded gracefully, "it is of no difference to me. You have faced formidable foes, the both of you. I have faith that you shall overcome all barriers."

"Thank you, Thor," Steve said. "I -- we really appreciate it." Tony stiffened at that, the realization that, when it came to this, he and Steve were a ' _we,'_ a matched set. That’s all they ever would be to everyone else, after this.

"If it's okay, then tell me what's going to happen next time I make a questionable call in a fight? When you don't agree with my judgment?" Tony said. "It's going to happen."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Bruce said. He didn't place his hand over Tony's where it lay on top of the table, but Tony could tell he wanted to comfort him.

"Yeah, well," Tony sighed, "when Fury gets wind of this--"

"Fury doesn't give a damn if you're Bonded or not," Clint said flatly, breaking his silence.

"Tony does have a point," Steve admitted, "it could be a danger on the field."

"No, it's not," Clint said in the same tone. He pointed his index finger at Tony. "Stark is a stubborn bastard. He's hard to work with, and he resents SHIELD. And yet Fury still puts up with your shit," Clint silenced Tony when he opened his mouth and continued, "because you're good at what you do."

"SHIELD has had Bonded agents work for them before," Natasha said, looking away from Clint to stare at Tony and Steve in turn. "As partners, even."

"It is not uncommon on Asgard for the Beloved to fight side by side, if they so wish," Thor added.

"I thought it was illegal for Bonded pairs to work in the military together," Steve said, a question in his voice.

"SHIELD isn't the military," Clint answered as Natasha opened her mouth to answer Steve's question. "Fury won’t care if you're Bonded – he doesn’t _want_ to know -- he just needs to know that you can work with it. And if that's good enough for SHIELD, it's good enough for us."

"Oh, we can work around it," Tony said, tapping his fingers on the table. He watched Steve's mouth harden into a thin line out of the corner of his eye.

"I said _with_ it," Clint growled, "a Bond isn't something you can toss away. You can't ignore it. You gotta roll with it, you can't make waves. If you're in a firefight and you feel your partner is in danger, you can save their life, and yours, too, if you're lucky."

"And if you're unlucky?" Tony asked. Clint ignored him.

"It's not about forcing the Bond away. It's about using it to your advantage. The military sees the Bond as a barrier, because it's a hassle. If someone's stationed near enough to their Bondmate and someone gets hurt, there's going to be trouble. Orders ignored. All because of a whim. But with SHIELD, the parts are greater than the whole. If you can work with your Bondmate," Clint paused for a moment before he got back on track, "it's like a flawless, graceful dance."

"Yeah, well I got two left feet," Tony muttered, looking over at Steve.

"He's right, he doesn't listen to me as it is," Steve sighed. Bruce snorted.

"Steve, you manage to make the Hulk listen to you," he pointed out.

"That's--"

"It is not indifferent," Thor said with a glint in his eye. "However, I do not believe that Clint proposes that you obey one another. On Asgard, when the Beloved -- when a Bonded pair is met with impending battle, they fight side-by-side." He took a bite from one of his remaining doughnuts.

"We already know we can fight together, Thor," Steve said, "but things have changed."

"Have they? Have you become so distracted that you cannot join forces to fight evil?" Thor said, brushing crumbs from his beard. "Bonds have created many a shield-maiden, but they have also emerged from the fellowship of battle."

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"But what if something happens to one of us?" he asked the question that no one seemed to want to consider. "What if one of us is hurt…or worse? What if--"

"Then we'll deal with it," Natasha said smoothly. "We're not here to punish you for this, Stark. We're going to support you," she glanced at Bruce and Steve on the other side of the table. " _All_ of you."

Bruce looked down and picked at some invisible scratch in the table with his fingernail.

"You two might not be thinking about it this way," Clint said, "but being in tune with someone like that? Can be the difference between life and death, when it comes down to it." Natasha shifted, and Tony could see her rest her hand on Clint's thigh, just for a moment, a comforting gesture that he leaned into.

"Thanks," Steve nodded.

Tony waited for the flood of relief to come, but it didn't.

*

The armor came flying across the room at his command, the gauntlet enveloping his wrist. Tony poked at it with a screwdriver until the gauntlet opened and fell onto the top of the workbench. He sighed and leaned down, reaching for a pair of needle-nosed pliers.

The volume of his music lowered for a moment as JARVIS' voice rang through the workshop.

"Mr. Barton requests entry," he said.

Tony considered for a moment, chewing on his lip.

"Let him in," he said, waving his hand nonchalantly. He turned back to his work in annoyance and focused on pulling at some wires to see what the problem was.

"Stark," Clint said, stopping by Tony's side.

"Minute," Tony snapped, squinting down at the gauntlet as he disassembled it. Once he finished, he kept his head down and watched as Clint walked around his workbench, looking at the junk Tony had left lying there. He didn't touch anything, but his hand hovered over each piece in turn, like a kid in a candy shop.

"That's a prototype for new explosive arrowheads," Tony blurted out when Clint scrutinized a small cylinder. His hand wavered over it. "You can touch it," Tony said, "it's not armed." Contrary to popular belief, he didn't get in the habit of leaving armed explosives lying around his workshop. Usually.

"It's kinda heavy," Clint said, weighing it in his hand. "It's not going to fly very far. Not as far as I can shoot."

"Yeah? Well, how about this?" Tony said, picking another black cylinder from the workbench. This one had slits in the side. "Smoke bomb arrow." He stood up to offer it to Clint.

"Already got one," Clint grinned, taking it from Tony to examine it.

Tony grabbed for another. "Putty," he smirked.

"What, like Silly Putty?" Clint scoffed.

" _Boomerang_ ," Tony said finally, reaching under the workbench to pull out one of the prototypes.

Clint burst into laughter as he snatched it from Tony and weighed it in his hands. "What am I gonna do with a boomerang arrow?" he chuckled, spinning it between his fingers.

"Ever seen that episode of _Sherlock_ where that guy got brained by a boomerang? That." Tony smiled proudly.

"You're full of shit, Stark," Clint said as he shook his head. He set the arrows back on the workbench.

"You'd know," Tony snorted. "So," he said, sitting back down, "what do you want? Come here to threaten to break my neck if I break Bruce's heart?" He leaned back over the gauntlet and reached for his soldering iron.

Clint sighed loudly. "One, you already got that speech, like, six months ago." Tony rolled his eyes, as if Bruce really needed Clint to protect him in the first place. "Two, I think he's pretty good at breaking his heart all by himself."

Tony looked up. "Whoa, hold on. What?" He set down the soldering iron.

"You know how Bruce is," Clint said. " _Flighty._ He thinks he's disposable, and he's getting ready to run if he has to."

"I've told him, he knows, I don't care about Steve -- not like that," he said in a pained voice. Tony massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger, shielding his face from Clint’s sharp eyes with a hand.

"He doesn't think like that," Clint shook his head. "He thinks Steve is better for you, that he's in the way of that. The way he talked, last night, was like he's given up on hoping there's a happy ending."

"Do any of us honestly think we're going to get a happy ending?" Tony snapped, closing his eyes and covering them.

When Clint didn't reply, he opened them. Clint was staring down at Tony's greasy workbench, a component of the newest Widow’s Bite prototype in his hands.

"When?" Tony asked when Clint remained silent.

"Five years ago," Clint said, twirling the metal around in his hands. Tony had been experimenting with different alloys, and this one was gold instead of Natasha's usual black. "That was -- that's when we Bonded, at least."

"When did they--"

"Two years," Clint said flatly, "it's been two years since he -- we only really had three years together, but I knew -- we were in love for years before. Or at least, I was."

"Did he work at SHIELD?" Tony asked, unable to help himself.

"Yeah. We were on a team together, back when I was a junior agent with, what'd he call it? Insubordination syndrome," he smirked at the memory. "He got me in line though, and I fell pretty hard. We Bonded in the middle of a mission in Hungary, of all places. I got shot, he had to put pressure on the wound, there you go."

"That's inconvenient," Tony commented.

"Yeah," Clint smiled a little, "I'd never seen him break his cool like that before. First off, I was dying, and that got him angry. But then, after we Bonded, he started freaking out and apologizing and --" Clint broke off, shaking his head. "First thing I said was, 'Thank God it's you.' And he just looked at me with steel in his eyes and said, 'I swear to God, Barton, I will get us out of this alive, and I will finally take you out to dinner, if you want.'" Tony watched as Clint's eyes grew distant, like Tony wasn’t even there.

"Hate to break it to you," Tony said, "but it's not like that with me and Steve." Clint shook himself out of his reverie and frowned.

"You don't seem to get it, Stark," Clint snapped, "it's not about it being perfect. Yeah, being Bonded can suck sometimes, just like being in love. You can't always control it, you can't help it, but you can deal with the consequences. Whatever they might be."

"And what if we can't?" Tony said, finally voicing his fear. He got to his feet and paced to the side of his workbench, toying with a tiny screwdriver in his hand. "What if this is the one thing -- the one demon I can't fight?"

Clint looked Tony in the eye, "You know that's not true," he said, "you know that you can do this. I lost my Bondmate -- my _husband_ , and I still go out there every day and fight, because that's what he wanted. He died for this damn world, and it wasn't 'til too late that we got our shit together and stopped arguing long enough to see what really mattered. And if you can't see past the end of your nose --" Clint cut off with tears in his eyes and looked down. A muscle worked in his jaw. "Damn it, Stark," he muttered.

"Look, I’m sorry, but how?" Tony asked, splaying his hands outward. " _How_ do I fight this?"

"You don't," Clint said. His voice was muffled, his throat choked with emotion. Tony felt embarrassed to see him like this, but Clint powered through it, unashamed. "Like I said before. You work with it, you take advantage of it, you appreciate that you've Bonded to your friend. To someone who cares about you."

Tony started, "Steve doesn't--"

"He does," Clint nodded, "so I don't care if you aren't in love with him," he said firmly, tilting his chin up to look Tony in the eye. "You hold onto him, because you don't know what you've got." He swallowed. "Not until you lose it." He turned on his heel to leave the workshop. Tony let him get halfway to the door before he spoke up.

"Sounds like he was a great guy," Tony said, "Sorry for your loss."

Clint turned halfway and stopped, rubbing the back of his neck.

"He deserved better," Clint shrugged. "You knew him," he said and his voice didn't shake a bit, "Phil complained about you for months. Said you were the most obnoxious, rude, inconsiderate man he'd ever met. And that you’d probably save all our asses some day."

"Sounds like I did you a favor, then, Barton," Tony said dryly. "Made you look good."

"Sure you did, Stark," Clint said. Tony thought he caught a chuckle before he left.

In his empty workshop, Tony ran a hand over his chest. Steve was somewhere upstairs, talking, worrying, and cherishing some small amount of relief. Tony sighed and concentrated on that feeling, and tried to convince himself that everything was going to be okay.

*

Space was black. It was dark and empty and open, with nowhere to run and hide, nowhere to escape. He could see the stars, but only barely, and they were no comfort to him.

Tony flailed around, trying to propel himself forward, but his rockets gave out. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything in the HUD. His limbs were stuck in glue as he tried to move them, his lungs seized up. He looked down at his chest for the comforting light of the arc reactor.

It wasn't there.

Tony tried to scream, but he couldn’t, not without air, not with the suit falling to pieces around him, panels flying off his body and towards the stars, blocking out their light.

"Tony."

He wailed in vain, his lungs burning, his chest on fire, and Tony couldn't move, couldn't think.

"Tony!"

He felt as though he'd been plunged into a bath of ice, just for a moment, and then something shifted and he was warm, like some faraway sun had drifted closer to cocoon him in its warmth.

Tony gasped for air and woke up in Steve's arms. Drenched in sweat, heart beating a mile a minute, Tony clenched his fingers tighter in Steve's shirt and shook, trying to catch his breath.

"It's okay, Tony," Bruce said from behind him, a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"You're safe, you're in the Tower," Steve said, "it's okay, you're gonna be okay."

"Steve?" Tony gasped, and he didn't know why he had to ask. Of course it was Steve, curled up around him like a warm blanket, holding him close through his tremors.

"It's me," Steve assured him. Tony screwed his eyes shut, just for a second, and rested his forehead on Steve's chest. When he pulled away, he saw the sweat stains and wrinkles he'd left there.

"Sorry," Tony said, unlatching from him. "I'm -- sorry," he said disjointedly.

"It's fine," Steve said, looking down as Tony pulled away.

"Here, drink this," Bruce said from behind Tony. Tony startled a little, but when he turned, Bruce was holding a glass of water.

"Lights," Tony said, and JARVIS turned the lights on to a dim glow. Tony took the glass from Bruce, his fingers brushing reassuringly against Tony's over the perspiration on the glass. Tony took a sip, then drank greedily, trying to drown out the choked feeling in his throat. "Haven't got anything stronger?" Tony said weakly, staring into the glass with quivering fingers.

"Tony," Bruce said gently, sitting beside him and taking the glass from Tony's hands. "You okay?" Tony watched him set the glass on the bedside table, next to his StarkPhone, and nodded numbly.

"It's okay not to be," Steve said, because Steve knew -- of course he knew, who did Tony think he was fooling? -- he was not okay.

"I'm--" Tony cut himself off. He took a shaky breath.

He felt the bed shift as Steve moved to sit beside him. Hesitantly, he curled his arm around Tony, his arm like warm sunlight against Tony's bare skin. Steve was solid, a block of comfort, and Tony curled into him, resting his head on Steve's shoulder. Tony almost closed his eyes, but he reached out a hand first, reaching for Bruce.

Bruce took his hand. He smiled at Tony softly, his eyes stared sadly at him, and he pulled Tony's hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. Tony sighed and finally smiled back before he closed his eyes, the last of his tremors leaving him.

"How'd you know?" he asked Steve without opening them. His heart was beating steadily now, but he pressed his free hand over it all the same, his palm marveling at the sensation of smooth skin and hair.

"Couldn't sleep. You seemed…I thought you were being attacked at first. Then I realized." Tony shivered unwillingly, and Steve's hand began to soothe small circles in Tony's back.

"He barged through the door and nearly broke it down," Bruce chuckled softly. "And I thought _I_ was a force of nature when I was angry."

"Sorry," Steve said apologetically. "Didn't meant to startle you."

"I'm glad you did," Bruce said. Tony opened his eyes just enough to see through his eyelashes. Bruce was looking at Steve with a guarded expression. Tony couldn't see the look on Steve's face, but he could tell from Steve's slight confusion that he wasn't quite sure what to think of Bruce’s quiet acceptance of the situation.

Tony and Steve yawned simultaneously, drawing a smile and another yawn from Bruce.

"Well," Bruce chuckled half-heartedly, "I think we're all ready to go back to bed."

As Steve moved to leave Tony's side, he felt himself shuddering at the loss of contact as cold air rushed against his bare skin.

Steve turned back to Tony. Concerned, he started, "Maybe I should--"

"Stay," Tony said, looking at Steve, then Bruce. "I don't mean--" he tried as Bruce shook his head.

"No, no. It's probably better if you stay with him," Bruce shrugged, looking between Steve and Tony.

Tony began to drift to sleep on his back in the middle of the bed, Steve on his right with a heavy arm wrapped around his stomach, Bruce on the left. Tony turned to look at Bruce, his curly dark hair spread out on the pillow, his gray hair standing out at a stark contrast to the rest. He stared at Tony with lidded eyes, and Tony smiled and brought a hand up to cup Bruce's cheek.

Bruce leaned forward and kissed Tony softly. Tony closed his eyes until Bruce pulled back a few inches, conscious of Steve on his other side.

Bruce kissed his forehead and whispered, "Goodnight, Tony."

When Tony woke, Steve was still curled around him and Bruce was gone, leaving nothing but a note beside the empty glass of water on the bedside table.


	3. Chapter Three

"SHIELD lost him hours ago," Steve said, hanging up his phone.

Tony swore and stopped in his pacing long enough to kick the leg of the kitchen table, sending it jumping a few inches. Thor sighed and pushed the table into place with a hand. Tony turned and began pacing again, avoiding getting too close to where Steve or Natasha stood. He could feel Steve’s worry, for him or for Bruce, he couldn’t tell.

"That's not gonna bring him back, Stark," Clint sighed. He was perched on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker, pouring them each a cup. Tony wanted something to drink -- something stronger than coffee, but Steve had barred him from alcohol and wouldn’t let him out of his sight.

"How do we know he does not plan to return?" Thor said in a thoughtful voice.

"He left a note," Tony said, pressing his hand against the outside of his jeans pocket to make sure it was still there. He swallowed. “He didn’t take his phone, but he took a bag and some clothes.”

"What does the note say?" Natasha asked, looking at him carefully in the way she did when she read someone.

"Stuff," Tony tilted his head to the left, “ _It's probably for the best that I don’t come back this --_ um, yeah, that kind of stuff." Natasha gave him a look, but she didn't press further.

“Has he left like this before?” Steve asked, looking at Tony.

 _‘Yes’_ is the right answer, but Tony doesn’t want to think about all the times Bruce came and went over the year and a half after he’d met Tony.

“Not in the past six months,” Tony said, “not since…” Tony wasn’t sure what to say. Since we started dating? Fucking? Living together? It was too late now to think about that, to talk to Bruce about what exactly they were, and why Tony was afraid he’d lose him if Bruce looked at it too closely. It was too late. He’d already lost him.

“Perhaps we should not pursue him if he does not wish to be pursued,” Thor suggested.

“The hell he does!” Tony snapped, whirling to look at Thor. “Bruce is jumping to conclusions – he doesn’t know what he’s doing – he can’t just leave like that.” He ignored the burden of Steve’s gaze on him, the sinking feeling of raw concern, and, worst of all, doubt.

“What Tony is trying to say,” Clint said, like Tony couldn’t tell he was side-eyeing the fuck out of him, “is that Bruce didn’t give Tony a chance to talk to him. He just left us.” Clint rolled his lips together. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“SHIELD doesn’t like that he’s disappeared, either,” Natasha said, stepping forward. “It’s not a good sign for an Avenger to suddenly go missing. They’re keeping an eye on all of the bus stations, trains, and airports, but they might not spot him. He’s used to this kind of surveillance.”

"Can the Hulk swim?" Steve asked, his brow furrowing.

"Aye, and he can jump long distances," Thor said in a troubled voice. "Could our friend not transform to aid his flight?"

"SHIELD would catch him when he transformed," Natasha shook her head.

"Hulk is hard to hide," Clint said. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and scrunched up his eyes, deep in thought. Tony watched Clint from across the room. He felt helpless. He could fight monsters, fix satellites, invent anything they needed -- but he couldn't keep Bruce feeling safe and loved. He couldn't find him when he needed to, to tell him… He couldn’t do a thing.

"Bruce is good at hiding, though," Tony said. He felt like he was going to explode if he had to stand in this kitchen any longer with the rest of the stony-faced Avengers as they looked helplessly for a solution that wasn’t there. "Let me know if you hear anything," he said, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the kitchen.

Tony heard footsteps follow him into the hallway. He turned and saw Steve standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his face set in a determined frown.

"We'll find him, Tony," Steve said assuredly, but his feelings were a different matter entirely.

"Yeah," Tony shrugged, "sure we will."

*

To his surprise, Steve didn't follow him into the elevator up to the top floor. Tony called the armor to him as he strode across the floor towards the balcony, stopping only for a quick drink. He might not be able to find Bruce like this, but he couldn't just sit there and _wait_.

The skies were clear, blue, and cheerful, perfect for flying. Tony couldn't enjoy it though, not now. He soared over the city, a streak of red and gold, and stopped over what JARVIS told him was the nearest bus station.

"JARVIS, cross-reference with the bus station's website and maps. Highlight this morning's bus routes," he said. The maps appeared on the screen, marked with strings in red and yellow. Destinations were printed above them. Tony stared at them all for a moment before he chose one, Washington D.C., and sped off towards it.

Tony flew through the skies for minutes, following the bus route until an alert popped up on his screen, a sign that JARVIS had spotted the bus' license plate.

"The bus is scheduled to stop at the next rest stop," JARVIS informed Tony. He followed it from the sky above at a pace all too slow for his liking, but, finally, the bus came to a halt.

Tony tried to keep his distance as the passengers unloaded, aware that Iron Man's appearance here might seem a little weird, but he needed to be closer to catch their faces. JARVIS ran facial recognition as Tony focused the HUD on close-ups, but there were no matches. He dipped closer when he saw a few shadows in the bus, in case Bruce had seen Iron Man and was hiding, but they didn't match up, either.

Tony swore and turned in midair to race back towards New York.

"Where else, JARVIS?" he said, "give me cities. Give me names."

Philadelphia was next, the bus arriving at its station in time for Tony to check the passengers -- nothing.

He wasted time on Philadelphia, getting ahead of the bus' projected route before he backtracked and found it alongside the road with engine problems. He landed, trying to get a glimpse of the passengers still on the bus, and ended up fixing their engine in the ten minutes it took for everyone to stop crowding him for pictures.

He had no luck there, and took to the skies with the flashes of cell phone cameras following him. SHIELD called him as he raced towards Boston.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Stark?" Fury said, glaring at him over the HUD, but Tony just rolled his eyes.

"Being a superhero," he said, "I thought that's what this was about? Kissing babies, saving cats from trees, fixing broken busses--"

"Get back to Avengers Tower," Fury said flatly, his good eye twitching. “I understand that you want to find Dr. Banner, but I can't have you terrorizing citizens."

"It's not terrorizing. _You_ are terrorizing. _I_ am charming," Tony shot back, but when he ended the call a few minutes later, he turned on his reflector panels and became invisible in the sky.

Tony had reached another dead end in Boston and was on his way up to Maine when he saw something coming at him from the sky.

"JARVIS--" he started, but then Thor came into sight.

Tony didn't stop or slow down, not even as Thor flew to his side.

"Stark," Thor said, "Come home."

 _Not until Bruce does_ , Tony wanted to say, but he stopped himself.

"Have you found anything?" he said instead. From his side, Thor shook his head, his blonde hair flying behind him in the wood. "Then, not yet."

"Tony," Thor called to him, stopping in midair, “I understand that you want your Beloved back, but this is not the way to find him.” Tony turned in midair, flinging his arms out to steady his flight.

"What else can I do?" Tony said helplessly, praying that the weakness in his voice didn't carry through in the robotic tone of his speakers.

"You can only hope that he will return to you," Thor said, a note of sadness in his voice as he flew to Tony’s side. He set a hand on Tony's metal shoulder, a gesture that Tony had seen Thor use on others many times. He had never before appreciated how convincing Thor could be, or how he held wisdom underneath his humor and heart.

From far away, Tony felt a tugging in his chest, a plea from Steve, concern that said, _Please, Tony, come home._

“If he truly loves you, he will come back in the end,” Thor said. “They always do.”

Tony thought, _But what if he doesn't?,_ but he let Thor lead him back through the skies towards New York City.

*

Tony couldn't sleep. He rolled around in his empty bed, reaching over to the nightstand every few minutes to check his phone for emails or texts. He even manually checked his voicemail, something he never did, because Pepper had a habit of leaving harried messages whenever he did something dramatic and dangerous (which was often).

There was no news, nothing -- nothing to keep him from reaching into the cabinet for a familiar bottle and trying to drown his worries in vodka. Tony's hands shook as he poured, but he ignored them, hoping the alcohol would settle his nerves. He raised the glass to his lips.

"Tony," Steve said, bursting into his room -- his and Bruce's room.

Tony turned wordlessly, the glass almost slipping from his fingers, and wondered how he didn’t realize Steve was coming up to his room, excitement in his eyes.

"They've spotted him," Steve said, and Tony allowed himself to hope.

"Where?" Tony said, setting down his drink. He rushed over to his closet to pull on some jeans.

"Chicago," Steve supplied. "About five minutes ago."

"I'll get my suit," Tony said, "we can--"

"You don't need the suit for this, Tony," Steve said, grabbing Tony's arm as he held it out to call the suit. Tony felt it then, a spark of sternness.

"But, I can get there--"

"We're taking the Quinjet," Steve said, "You, me, Natasha. Clint's flying." Tony opened his mouth to complain, but Steve tugged him along, out of the room, speaking over him. "You're not flying after you've been drinking," he said.

"I haven't even had enough to get buzzed," Tony complained, but Steve ignored him and steered him into the hallway.

Tony didn't think Clint was too qualified to be flying, either, considering he had a terrible case of bed-head and he still looked half-asleep, but Tony just took his seat in the Quinjet next to Steve, and watched as Natasha called in to SHIELD to register their flight course.

As they took to the skies, Tony found himself face-to-face with Director Fury for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

"This is a blatant abuse of your SHIELD-granted powers," Fury said, glaring at them all through the video screen projected at the front of the cabin.

"Yes, sir," Clint said with a smirk. "We're just trying to find our friend."

"You know," Fury said heavily, "as he is under threat watch, I should report Dr. Banner as a dangerous fugitive. When he left the Avengers, he left his immunity behind." Tony felt his throat narrow, and clenched his fists.

"You'd have to go through us to get him," Tony said.

"That won't be necessary," Steve – no, _Cap_ \-- said darkly, "Director, we've got this situation handled."

"Then make sure you handle it," Fury said before he cut the feed.

"Shit," Clint breathed as soon as Fury's face disappeared. "He's not bluffing, either; the World Security Council would have a fit if they knew Banner's disappeared again."

"How would they know?" Tony asked.

"Spies in SHIELD," Natasha frowned, "Fury won't tell them, he hates them. But we haven't exactly been keeping this a secret."

"I might be able to talk them down, if it comes to it," Steve said.

"Sorry, Cap," Natasha said, "I'm not sure that even Captain America has that kind of power."

They barely spoke for the rest of the ride. Tony ignored their searching looks and kept his hand in his pocket, tracing his fingers over the folds of Bruce's letter.

He pretended not to notice Steve watching him openly, like everyone in the Quinjet wasn’t aware of it. Tony felt apprehension and concern in droves, as he had since Steve had awoken in time to see Tony crumpled up and fling the note across the room. He had a question in his eyes, and he thankfully hadn’t needed Tony to explain to understand what Bruce had done. Tony wondered what Steve had read in him then, and what he was feeling now.

Tony stared stubbornly out the window at the black sky outside and tried not to think about it. When Steve moved his hand to comfort Tony with a touch, he flinched away, folding his arms tightly and turning his head, his jaw sharply defiant of Steve’s worry.

The flight was long, longer than Tony had hoped (and certainly longer than it would have been had _he_ flown, he thought privately), but they found a place to land in a nearby park. It was dark enough that the Avengers’ arrival in Chicago went largely unnoticed, and they were able to make their way through the dark streets to the lit-up train station.

It was a large building with a high ceiling and great white walls and windows that reflected the harsh overhead lights. It was still too dark outside to even hope to see the sun begin to rise.

"Let's split up," Steve said, pulling the top of his hooded sweatshirt up and completing the look with a baseball cap. Natasha had acquired a blonde wig and duffel bag in the time since Tony had left the Quinjet, and Clint was wearing glasses, of all things. Tony pushed his sunglasses up his nose and hoped that the hood of his hoodie would work well enough to keep people from tweeting about him.

“Romanoff, you take the south end. Tony, you can head straight up and check the waiting rooms. Barton—“

Tony took the stairs two at a time after Steve was done, ignoring Steve’s cry of, “Tony, wait!” and the frustration that followed him.

He weaved around the early morning crowd, men, women, and children, bags and backpacks that were littered across the station by dozing travelers. He stopped in front of benches, searching faces, looking at every man in a baseball cap or every brunette with short, dark curls.

Tony turned down a hallway and walked quickly down it, scanning the crowd for anything familiar. His heart stopped when he looked at the line to Dunkin’ Donuts. Tony stared at the back of a dark blue baseball cap, where curly dark hair fell out of it as the man leaned over the counter slightly to order

Tony watched, taking a silent step forward, Bruce's name on his lips. The man turned, and Tony's heart sank as he stared into a face that wasn't the one he was looking for. Too narrow. Too cold.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Tony scrambled for it, nearly dropping it in the process, and read the text message.

 _all clear,_ Clint had sent to the entire team via the group chat app Tony had written for them. Steve must have told them to report back through that after Tony disappeared.

 _i’ve got nothing,_ Tony sent quickly.

 _Found a cashier who recognized him. He bought a coffee,_ Natasha sent, and Tony's heart leaped in his chest. _But it's been awhile. He's not staying here, he's moving on without sleeping._

Steve called them all, then, on the group frequency (he preferred it to texting). "I think we've hit another dead end," he said as Tony held his phone up to his ear. "I don't think he wants to be found."

"He's not doing a very good job of it, then," Natasha said, her voice full of annoyance. “He must have known that security camera would catch his picture.”

"He wants us to find him," Tony said, "just…not yet."

"He wants to think first," Clint agreed, "get away."

"Why don't we give him space?" Steve suggested, "'till he remembers how much he's wanted back home."

"Because that's the problem with Bruce," Clint sighed, cutting Tony off before he could snap at Steve. "He’ll find someplace, hole himself away, and jump to all the wrong conclusions. He doesn't think he's wanted in the first place."

*

Tony sat alone in his workshop, playing with holographic models of the train routes from Chicago. They hung across the room, lines in yellows, blues, and reds, tiny dots tracking their movement with data from the satellite map. Tony had guiltlessly hacked passenger lists and security cameras, but he couldn't find Bruce, whether he was using a fake ID that didn't match the photo on record, or had slipped past the cameras JARVIS was tracking.

Tony sighed, set down his drink with the tinkling of ice, and pulled up the bus routes again. Bruce hadn’t gotten onto a plane, of that, they were certain. There was still the possibility that he’d left the train station in Chicago and disappeared into the city. If so, he could be anywhere.

Natasha thought he’d gotten back onto another train, and Tony hoped she was right. The security footage they’d pulled showed Bruce buying a coffee, and they’d been able to use the footage to trace him back to a train coming from New York. They’d lost him some time afterwards when he’d wandered into a blind spot, probably to change and reinforce his disguise. There was no trace of him leaving the train station, getting onto a train, or even buying a ticket.

Tony spread his hands apart, and commanded the holographic map to spread out. North America faced him in blue dots and lines in the middle of his cluttered workshop.

"JARVIS," he said, then cleared his throat. His voice felt heavy from hours of disuse as he sat alone, drinking and writing programs to track Bruce. He took another drink before he continued, savoring the familiar sensation of burning in his throat. "Show me the range."

A circle in red appeared over the map, spreading out from Chicago like a drop of water rippling in a pond. Tony stared at it and frowned.

The door opened. Tony didn't turn to see who it was; he could tell from the weight of his footsteps and the knot in his chest that it was Steve.

"What's that supposed to be?" Steve asked.

"A perimeter," Tony said, stepping back from the holographic map. "The farthest away Bruce could be is that red line."

"You think we can still find him?" Steve asked.

"I'm not going to stop trying," Tony said, a warning in the tone of his voice. Steve ignored it.

"There's a possibility that we won't find him," he warned. "Not for a long time. Not if he doesn't want to be found."

"I have to try," Tony said, turning on Steve, "don't you get it? Bruce thinks -- he left because he thinks we're better off without him. But he's wrong. I need to -- _we_ need to find him."

Tony caught the look on Steve's face; pity, most of all, and understanding, like he could ever grasp even a fraction of what Tony was feeling. Tony wished that he could pull all of his emotions back inside himself and hold them there, lock them away from Steve and his goddamn good-intentioned empathy and compassion. Tony wanted to yell and scream, to fight and be fought back, but Steve wasn't having it. Not this time.

Steve sighed. "This isn't a rescue mission," he said. "It's not healthy to go chasing after something that doesn't want you, Tony." That hit him worse than any space gun, any Hulk punch, the way Steve said it like it was pure fact. Like it was nothing.

"How do you know what Bruce wants?" he sneered.

"How do _you_?" Steve snapped right back with some of the vigor Tony had been craving. "Bruce ran away, he didn't go on a vacation. He's hiding from us, and that includes _you_."

"He's hiding from me _because_ of _you,_ " Tony snapped. He took a step back from Steve, suddenly conscious that he'd turned to face him, fighting stance at the ready. He took another step back, trying not to trip over his own feet. "Not _me_. He couldn't handle it anymore, so he left."

"Then maybe that's for the best," Steve said, frowning, "if he couldn't handle--"

"Oh, and of course you _wanted_ this," Tony laughed bitterly without a note of humor in his voice. "You're glad he's gone, aren't you? Glad that he's out of the way?"

In aggravation, Steve bit out, "Stark, that's not what I--"

"No, you can admit it, he's gone now," Tony sneered, "Bruce is out of the way, you can fuck me now, Rogers, that what you want?" Tony spread his arms out. "Is this what you wanted?" he yelled. “Me?”

Steve held his ground. "No, and you know I didn’t,” he said firmly, “You aren't going to scare me off with this, Stark. Stop being an asshole. I never planned for this to happen. But what I can plan for is the future. A future that you've got to accept, where Bruce might not come back."

"How do I accept that, huh?" Tony asked scornfully. "How am I ever supposed to plan for a life without Bruce? How does that exist?" Steve didn't have an answer for him. Tony turned around and paced towards his workbench, shoving an armful of prototypes, junk, and empty bottles to the floor as he passed. They fell to the floor and shattered with a loud crash that Steve faced unflinchingly.

"I have all this _crap_ ," he gestured around at the workshop, its mini-bar and the hall of armor, his robots, the odds and ends and gadgets he'd built his life around, "and I can do without all of it, if I have to -- and I have." He turned on Steve. "But the only thing I need -- that I can't imagine going day by day without having by my side -- is the only thing I can't hold on to. Not that _you_ could ever understand that."

Tony didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this; Steve turned away from him, his emotions unchanging, his jaw set, and walked away in silence. He stopped in front of Tony's holographic map of the United States with its complicated lines and dots, the red circle that spread with every passing minute, crossed his arms, and stared. Tony slipped his hand into his pocket to feel Bruce's note underneath his hand, letting the words sink back into his brain as he watched Steve's figure in silence.

Steve stood silent and unmoving for moments on end. Tony wanted him to say something, anything, if only to give him an excuse to yell back. He didn't say a word. Tony stared until the vision of Steve standing in front of the map of light burned into his vision.

"I think I understand just fine," Steve said, breaking the silence, "you can't always hold on…can’t quite reach it…no matter how much you want to. And it hurts. But you've gotta fight for it." He turned. "And you’ve gotta choose your fights."

"I don't want to fight Bruce," Tony said, wondering what it was he'd said to make Steve stop and think like that.

"No, but you have to choose whether or not you want to fight to get him back, or let him go. It's your choice. The rest is up to him. And you have to be prepared to lose." Steve sighed and turned around to face Tony with a sad look in his eyes. It weighed heavy in Tony’s chest.

Tony swallowed and opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by the sharp _beep, beep, beep_ of an alarm. "JARVIS?" he questioned.

"Sir, your tracking parameters have returned a new result," JARVIS answered. Tony picked up his tablet from the nearby workbench and squinted at the tweet JARVIS displayed on the screen.

_@fishyff0000: the guy I'm sitting next to on the train looks like bruce banner lol. #losangelesorbust_

Tony looked up from the screen, fingers already flying over the keys, and met Steve's eye.

"I don't lose," he said.

*

It was raining in New York City when Tony stepped out of the elevator and onto the top floor of Avengers Tower, the thunderstorm appearing suddenly when he called the Avengers to assemble.

He left the Tower alone.

It was easy to track down the train he was looking for. There were only so many trains from Chicago that went out west, and _@fishyff0000_ had their location posted along with the tweet. _Kansas City_. Tony checked the maps, his satellites, and the Twitter feed again and again as he flew westward, although he knew exactly where the train was. Where Bruce was.

The sun was harsh and unforgiving when Tony finally caught up with the train. He kept at a distance for awhile, mind whirring away as he watched the train pass far beneath him, and swallowed. The train was almost at Santa Fe, and Bruce would have the opportunity to escape if he'd spotted Tony.

"Stealth Mode, JARVIS," Tony said, feeling like a jerk for not giving Bruce a fair warning that he was coming, and the suit's reflector panels powered on. A (near) perfect reflection of the sky, Tony descended towards the train.

"Sir, you have a call," JARVIS informed him as he landed as lightly as he could on the roof of the last car of the train.

"Now's not a good time," Tony said through gritted teeth as he fought to stay on top of the roof for a moment, afraid that the weight of the suit would reveal his presence. He took a few light steps towards the back of the train, remembering the ladder and door he'd spotted, but JARVIS was adamant.

"It's Miss Potts," he said.

Tony sighed and answered the call. "Pepper," he started, "I'm going to have to call you back."

"Oh, no you don't," she said firmly, "we need to talk. You promised to call me -- are you in the suit?" she asked, suddenly sounding concerned. "You sound like you’re in the suit. The Avengers aren't on CNN, are they? Is the world ending? I have a meeting with a Fox News reporter in a half hour; please tell me the world's ending."

"The world's not ending," Tony reassured her as he took a few more careful steps towards the end of the train. "Super special secret mission. Iron Man only."

"Shouldn't they send Natasha for something like that?" Pepper asked, quirking an eyebrow on the screen in front of him. Tony took a second to roll his eyes.

"Come on," he said, "this is --" he cut himself off as he felt the suit sliding on the roof of the train and threw his arms out, firing the repulsors slightly to balance the heavy body of the suit.

"Oh, Tony," Pepper sighed, "never send a man to do a woman's job."

"Pep, I'd love to talk, but I seriously need to --"

"I heard that Bruce left," she said. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. I wish you two could work it out."

"Actually," Tony said, "I'm just about to. Find him, that is. Not sure he'll be in a working-it-out mood. Hopefully he won't be in a smashing mood, but--"

" _Tony, are you on a mission to track Bruce?"_ Pepper asked, voice tilting dangerously towards livid.

"Uh," he swallowed, "yes?"

"That's -- you're -- do you know how many boundaries you're crossing?" she asked, "and you know how Bruce is with space and people! He runs for a reason, Tony, you have to respect that."

"If we're going to talk about boundaries, this conversation isn't going to end well," Tony snapped.

Pepper pursed her lips, her expression changing from troubled to pissed in an instant.

"Really? You're going to take _that_ angle on this?" she said. She crossed her arms and squared her shoulders onscreen.

"Sorry," Tony winced, stopping at the end of the train. "Look, I'm standing on top of a train --"

"A _train_?!"

"-- Bruce is inside --"

"How do you know?"

"-- and I really need to talk to him. Please, Pep, _please,_ can we do this later?"

"How did you find him?" she asked, ignoring his request.

Tony sighed. "Tracked the Twitter account of some person who tweeted about their train buddy being Bruce."

"That's really creepy, Tony," Pepper pointed out. "Big Brother creepy."

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands defensively, even though Pepper couldn't see them, "I'm not the one who set up social networking sites to track my location. It's public data. I'm just taking advantage of it."

"Mhmm," Pepper said, rolling her eyes. "Are you sure you should be doing this? I doubt Bruce will appreciate it."

"I'll be fine," Tony said. "Okay? I really gotta go. Call you later. Don't wait up. Give Happy a kiss from me, will ya?" He disconnected the call before the worry lines in Pepper's forehead or his own guilt could get any bigger.

"Okay," he said to himself, holding out his arms and letting the suit fly off him in pieces. Tony turned and lifted his feet, walking out of the suit, and crouched as the wind hit him. He gestured for the suit to lay flat on the roof of the train, magnetized pieces of red and gold armor sticking to the metal. "Okay," he said again, trying to clutch at the top of the train with his bare hands. "JARVIS," he said into his comm device, "can you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said in his ear.

Tony took a deep breath.

"Let's do this," he said, and carefully began to climb down the back of the train.

It was easier than he'd thought to get inside; he supposed that the designers and heads of security thought it was unlikely that anyone would try to climb onto the back of a moving train. Once he was inside, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a beanie hat and sunglasses, his temporary disguise. They matched his baggy jeans and hoodie, although they made him feel more like an adult masquerading as a teenager than anything else. (Or possibly a stoner.)

Tony swallowed down a bubble of anxiety and walked through the empty back car to the connecting door. It was locked.

"Well, shit," he said, wishing he'd brought something fancy to unlock it with, but he’d left in too much of a hurry. He turned and looked at the car for a key, but could only find a tool kit. It was more than he needed, and he pocketed a few tools. (He’d donate some money to the train company later, and maybe look into getting some faster technology in the works. If Japan could have bullet trains, so could America.)

"How long until our next stop?" Tony muttered as he worked on picking the lock. He was a bit rustier than he'd thought.

"Fifteen minutes to Santa Fe, sir," JARVIS supplied. Tony swore under his breath and worked faster.

The door swung open, and Tony allowed himself a triumphant fist pump before he whisked away his tools and strolled through the connector to the next car.

He found himself confronted with a car filled with passengers, all of them staring at the strange man in dark sunglasses, hat, and hoodie who had come out of the locked car. The seats were three to a row, back to back, the fabric as ugly as the carpeting beneath his feet. Tony stood in the middle of the narrow aisle between seats as Clint's words from some long ago conversation came back to him, _"Just walk around like you own the place, and no one will think twice about you."_

Tony _always_ walked around like he owned the place. (He usually did.) He could do this.

He glanced carefully around as he made his way through the car, but it was mostly elderly folks and teenagers who looked like they had something to prove -- no Bruce. Tony went unchallenged through the passenger car, and only allowed himself a sigh of relief when he passed through to the next one.

"Ten minutes," JARVIS said in his ear, and Tony thought about the long row of cars he had ahead of him. He passed through the connector with a new urgency in his step.

Tony's heart beat faster as JARVIS kept a countdown in his ear and he strode through car after car with no sign of Bruce. He stopped a few times in the aisles to crane his neck at a man in a baseball hat or some guy with curly hair, but the moment they turned, Tony moved on, disappointment and nerves building up inside him. As the train began to slow, he had three cars left, and the station was right ahead.

 _Come on,_ Tony thought to himself, hoping no one at the station would notice the Iron Man armor flattened against the roof of the last car, _Bruce, where are you?_

When Tony entered the second to last car, his heart stopped.

On the other end of the car, facing away from him in the seat next to the aisle, Tony saw the curly salt-and-pepper hair that he could recognize anywhere. He felt his heart beat frantically as he walked down the aisle, trying not to run and startle the man pulling a duffel bag from the compartment over his seat, ignoring the command to stay seated until the train was in the station.

 _Bruce_.

There was a ringing in his ears, sharp and hopeful, that drowned out the announcement over the speakers and the chatter of the tired travelers. The man stood with them all, crowding towards the door to get off, and Tony rushed ahead, knocking over carry-ons and anyone who got in his way.

The man took a step into the aisle and Tony surged forward, placing a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Bruce?" he said. The man stopped and turned, confusion and annoyance in his eyes. Eyes that weren't brown, or even green. Or Bruce's.

"I know, right?" some twenty-something said from the next seat over, "doesn’t he look like Banner? Seriously, I thought I was sitting next to the Hulk. And hey, aren't you--"

"Sorry, 'scuse me," Tony said, heart sinking. He stumbled over his feet in an attempt to rush off the train, bumping into attendants and passengers on the platform as he weaved through the crowd, lost and hopeless.

*

"Stark, wake up."

Tony opened his eyes slowly, feeling the throbbing pain of his hangover begin to rush in, and jumped back as he was met with Clint Barton's face, up close and personal.

" _The fuck?_ " he gasped, flying back in his rolling chair, all of his aching pains from sleeping in a stiff chair in his lab making their selves known. Fully awake, Tony stood up. The blood rushed to his head at once and he stumbled, bracing one hand against the workbench and the other against his forehead as he waited for his head to catch up with the rest of his body. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Barton?"

"You looked so peaceful," Clint said, a shit-eating grin plastering his face. "I had to wake you." Tony groaned.

"Yeah, well, fuck you, Sue Storm was just about to take her shirt off," Tony grumbled, stretching and groaning again when his body protested. "What are you doing down here, anyways?"

Clint's face fell slightly. Tony swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat making a clicking noise as he struggled to get the dead-animal taste out of it.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"Banner was spotted in Portland, Oregon at ten hundred hours, exiting a train station," Clint said, sounding strangely formal, like he was repeating a report. "His current whereabouts are unknown."

"Well, shit," Tony breathed. "Portland."

"Meeting in the conference room in ten," Clint said, turning. "Wash up."

Tony watched as Clint left his workshop, and then sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as the lights shone too bright into his eyes.

"DUM-E, hangover cure," he ordered with a wave of his hand, opening his eyes and striding towards the bathroom. The robot whirred into action towards the smoothie supplies – followed by the inevitable sounds of glasses clinking and shattering – and Tony retreated to his tiny workshop shower, ignoring the dread building in his chest and wondering what the hell was wrong with him for him to feel _nervous._

Tony was wrong, though, and he realized it the moment he stepped into the conference room, five minutes late, as usual.

They hadn't had real use for it of late -- briefing and debriefing usually took place on the Helicarrier, when they actually cooperated with SHIELD. But, in the middle of the dark room, gathered around the central console, stood Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Thor, face to face with the darkened silhouettes on the screen.

"The World Security Council," Tony said, striding into the room with as much bravado as he could muster before he'd even had his morning coffee, "well, I've heard a lot about you. What's up? Trying to nuke New York again?"

Steve turned. "Nice of you to join us, Stark," Steve said in his best Captain voice. Tony felt the anxiety pounding in his heart dissipate. He felt something else instead. A warning. Tony looked over Natasha's guarded stance, Clint's hands, which were balled into fists, and finally to Thor, who was holding Mjolnir -- a power play he only used when necessary during delegation.

"Yes, it is," a woman said coolly. Tony turned to squint at the screen. She was nothing more than a dark figure, the light carefully placed behind her so she was just a blank face. Tony glanced around at the other silhouettes across the screen, their representative countries printed at the bottom in cyan text. "Will Dr. Banner be joining us as well?"

Tony's heart caught in his throat.

"Bruce?" he said, mind whirring as he came up with any number of excuses. “We--"

"We were just talking about Banner, Stark," Natasha said, looking at Tony meaningfully, _shut up, Stark,_ clear in her eyes.

"Information places him in Oregon at this time," a man said in accented English. His portrait swung to the front of the screen. "As he is considered a threat, Dr. Bruce Banner must be--"

"Banner is no threat," Thor interrupted, "he has proved himself in battle many times. He is loyal to the Avengers, and to the Avengers alone." Tony heard the thinly veiled threat behind Thor's words.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I thought the deal was that he wasn't a threat," Tony said loudly. So, they’d been discussing Bruce, and it wasn't going well, that much was obvious. This was Tony's chance to turn things around. "Bruce lives here, he fights crime in his tight purple pants besides our spandex-loving team, and he saves the world. We're level. He isn't dangerous."

"He's dangerous if he's gone rogue," another man said plainly, his clipped vowels the only thing to distinguish him from the others.

"He hasn't gone rogue," Tony sighed in over-exaggerated irritation.

"Then, explain this," the first woman said.

A security feed photo of Bruce popped up on the screen. It had been blown up and zoomed in on his face until it was pixilated, but not enough that Bruce was unrecognizable. Underneath a New York Mets cap, Bruce's face looked shadowy and rough, but it was him all right. He looked…tired, Tony thought. Forlorn. His heart seized up in his chest as he started at the photo of the crowded train station exit, but Tony didn't let any of his emotion show on his face. He’d become even better at that as of late.

"Portland, Oregon," the woman continued, "is quite far away from New York, don't you think?"

"As we've been saying," Clint said, "just because he's not in New York doesn't mean he's gone rogue. It's a free country. Bruce is allowed to travel--"

"That remains to be seen," another woman interrupted. "It's dangerous for the Hulk to travel. He shouldn't be around other people if he's in danger of hurting them."

"A Hulk out?" Tony forced a laugh, "on a vacation? You've got to be kidding me. He's taking time off to relax, not to smash."

"Then why weren't we informed of this vacation?"

"Because it's none of your business," Clint said sharply. Natasha glanced his way, but he didn't stand down. "He has a right to a personal life, same as the rest of us."

The first woman, who seemed to be the ringleader of the pack, spoke again. "It is our understanding that--"

"That what? Bruce is a blood-thirsty monster? Is that what Thunderbolt Ross has been telling you?" Tony crossed his arms and glared up at the video screens. "Ross, who created a monster who tried to tear the city apart? If it wasn't for Hulk, Ross' little experiment would've done a hell of a lot more damage. Bruce isn't a monster. He's a person. And he deserves some time to himself, just the same as you or I."

"I'm willing to take full accountability for my team," Steve said suddenly, his voice firm in a rush of pride and hope. "If you expect us to do our duty and protect this world, I think we deserve privacy. Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are thwarted out of enough of that from the media, don't you think?"

"Yes, which leads us to wonder, Mr. Stark," the woman turned to look at Tony. He wished she was brave enough to show her face, to look him in the eye. "Has your relationship with Dr. Banner compromised the team?"

Tony watched in mild shock as the team all rose their voices in protest at once, a cacophony of voices that drowned each other out. Thor's booming, "The love between Banner and Stark holds us together as none other!" registered somewhere over Natasha's frightening sneer of, "I don't believe that's any of your business," and Clint's, "What the _hell_ does that have to do with anything?"

As they quieted, Steve spoke up. "Banner and Stark's personal lives aren't your concern," he said, cranking up his Captain America voice to eleven. "You won't ask questions about their relationship, won't discuss it, and, under no circumstances, will you use it against them," he spat. "Is that understood?"

From the way the silhouettes on screen straightened slightly in their chairs, Tony felt that it was. He resisted the urge to smile or hi-five Steve, but he couldn't stop the rush of gratitude that he was sure Steve felt.

"Very well, Captain Rogers," a man said, disapproval clear in his voice. "But that still leaves us with the question -- where is Dr. Banner, and why has he left the Avengers? If he is simply on vacation, why can we not speak to him?" Tony could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest for a moment as he thought about it -- they had no way to contact Bruce, no alibi for him. He'd have to make something up, and fast.

"I'm not supposed to bug him," Tony sighed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to type away as quickly as possible, calling up certain protocols and writing commands for JARVIS. "He said he wanted some time off to, you know, relax, seeing as that's a _preeeeetty_ important thing for him." He took a moment to pause for effect. His fingers flew ceaselessly across his phone. "But I can call him up, if you want to check in. JARVIS, patch the phone through so they can hear the call." Natasha gave him a look, the barest quirk of an eyebrow, like she _almost_ didn't trust him or something. He didn't look at Steve, and knew he trusted him and was waiting to see what party trick Tony would pull from the hat this time.

The sounds of a dial tone came first, and Tony hoped that they didn't secretly have a tail on Bruce. A spy could tell them if Banner answered a phone or not.

Then, Tony's breath caught as he heard Bruce's voice over the speakers. "Tony?" he said, in the voice he always used when he was about to ask Tony a question in the lab or the workshop. Tony reminded himself that it was just a recording, just JARVIS, and willed his voice into something cheery and casual.

"Hey, Brucie-kins," he said, glancing at the video screen and the listening council members. "I've got the World Security Council on the line with us," he said.

"What did you do this time?" Bruce sighed, and Tony almost wanted to cry, he missed Bruce's exasperated fondness so much.

"Actually," Tony said, drawing the word out, "it's you. They heard about your little vacation," he glanced at the screen to try to judge if they were buying it or not, "and they want all the juicy gossip. How angry are you feeling? Enough to smash Portland to a pulp?"

"I'm fine," Bruce said in a different tone altogether, his voice slightly softer than before. "Tired, but fine."

"Long day, huh?" Tony said sympathetically. He turned to glare at the silhouettes of the council. "So, are you all happy? Can he go back to his vacation, now? Or do you so desperately need the Hulk right now?"

"I'd appreciate the time off from smashing," Bruce grumbled.

"We're sorry for disturbing your rest, Dr. Banner," the first woman said, not sounding sorry at all. "Will you be returning to your team soon?"

"Hopefully," Bruce's voice echoed through the speakers.

"Well, see you soon, babe," Tony said, trying to cut the call short.

"See you, Tony," Bruce replied. Tony felt his throat tighten. He pressed a little too hard on the buttons on his phone as he cut the fake call.

"Well," he said, turning up to the screen and crossing his arms. He tilted his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow in a challenge. "Are you calling off your dogs? Or are you going to harass Bruce until he decides he's feeling green?"

"We'll be in contact, Mr. Stark," a man said, the silhouette of his head bobbing as he spoke.

"If you have concerns about the team, they'll go through me," Steve interrupted. "Thank you for your time," he gritted out, stepping forward to hit a button, cutting the video call before the World Security Council could. Tony let out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"Fuck," he said, stepping back from the console in the center of the room to try to see if JARVIS was able to trace the council’s signal, but to no avail. "That was close," he breathed.

"Too close," Steve agreed, "what the hell gave them the idea that you and Bruce were fighting?"

"SHIELD did," Natasha said. Tony glanced at Clint, who didn't meet his gaze. "The little quarrel you had with the Hulk set off all kinds of warning bells. They're overly sensitive about Bruce, obviously."

"Obviously," Tony repeated, "we're lucky I have JARVIS."

"How did JARVIS summon Bruce's voice?" Thor asked curiously.

Tony looked away guiltily. "He records conversations," he explained. "Not important ones, or personal ones, or _anything_ if he's in privacy mode -- just random snippets from banter and small talk. Comes in handy."

"That's creepy as fuck, Stark," Clint said.

"Why could you not conjure his voice at will, as you do with JARVIS?"

"My voice patterns are based upon the late Edwin Jarvis, and have been programmed to copy him," JARVIS supplied, "as is my behavioral and cognitive programming, although Mr. Stark has altered them considerably so I may use my processing power in the same sequencing as he."

"I did not understand, like, any of that," Clint said, squinting up at the ceiling like he still did sometimes.

“In short, my programming is highly advanced and inapplicable to Dr. Banner. I do not have nearly enough samples to recreate his voice, nor do I have the programming available to replicate his personality,” JARVIS explained. “It was all I could do to find suitable answers that had been recorded in my memory banks and play them back.”

"Thank God for JARVIS," Steve said, as though he understood all of that, "but we still have a problem here. We still don't know how to find Bruce."

"And it's important that we do, now," Natasha sighed, "whether he likes it or not, we need to at least let him know that he needs to fly under the radar this time if he doesn't want Ross and the council coming after him again."

"He must have considered the consequences of his departure," Thor said, a troubled look on his face. "Banner has a brilliant mind. It is not like him to overlook things of importance."

"He's too smart for this," Clint agreed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"He wants to be found," Natasha said, turning to look at Clint with sparkling eyes. "He always does. We tracked him for years and he never really fell off the grid before now."

"So?" Steve asked, "Shouldn't that mean that he _doesn't_ want to be found this time around?"

"He left a note," Natasha said. "Bruce knows as well as anyone, goodbyes hurt." Tony looked at his feet. "He doesn’t like goodbyes. So, whatever he said in his note, it’s important.”

Natasha held her hand out to Tony. He stepped back, clapping a protective hand over the pocket where Bruce’s note lay. He wondered how she knew he had it with him, but he hadn’t parted with it since he first picked it up.

"It's not important," Tony said, folding his arms tightly across his chest, "it's a dead end."

“Then, let me ask you this,” Natasha said. “Did he ever leave a note before?”

Tony thought back to the times when Bruce had disappeared, all of them before there had been any kind of commitment.

“He feels he owes you something,” Natasha continued. “He left a note because he wants to give you a chance to find him, if you want to.” Tony bit his lip. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it would help," she said, fixing him with an honest look. _Stupid super spies_ , Tony thought to himself.

Slowly, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out the note. It had been folded and unfolded again and again in the past three days, the blue ink smudged on the white paper, which was wrinkled from when Tony had crumpled it up into a ball.

Natasha read the note quickly, committing it to memory, and handed it back to Tony. He glanced at the page before he folded it back up and slipped it into his pocket. He tucked his hand in the pocket alongside it, clinging onto his last piece of Bruce. Steve threw Tony a glance that was all sympathy and pity, and Tony hatedhim for a moment.

"Clint, where did Bruce talk about the most?" she asked, whirling to look at him. Tony was somewhat offended that she didn't ask _him_ first, but, now that he thought about it, Bruce didn't talk about his time on the run much. He talked about the people, the things he wanted to change, but he didn’t tell Tony what it was like. Tony supposed it was because Bruce knew he’d never understand.

"Uh, he liked India,” Clint said.

Natasha shook her head. “They’d catch him on the plane.”

"He thought Brazil was nice," Clint offered unsurely. Tony shook his head.

"No, that's where Ross went after him," Tony said, "he's not going to head back to somewhere Ross knew about."

“Unless he is running simply to run,” Thor said. “It may be an escape he has in mind, not a destination.”

Natasha chewed on her lip. "What about after Harlem?" she said. "When he figured out how to control the Hulk. Where has he been since then?"

Clint sighed, long suffering and annoyed. "He doesn't control Hulk," he said, looking just as ticked off as Tony always did when someone talked about "controlling" Hulk. "He _is_ theHulk. He has to balance them out, use his rage like an anchor."

"What's in Oregon that Bruce might be looking for?" Steve asked. "Is there anything in Portland?"

"Nothing _he'd_ be looking for," Clint muttered to himself.

"Something around there, then," Tony hummed, clapping his hands together and calling up a map on the giant screen.

"Is there--" Natasha started, then paused to choose her words with care. "Is there anything that Bruce might…go _back_ to? Some place he might consider a safe haven?"

"I often return to the deserts of New Mexico," Thor said. "It was a beginning of sorts, for me."

"Bruce's 'beginning' was a lab at Culver," Tony sighed.

"You said he didn't control the Hulk," Natasha said to Clint. “So, where did he first let him be _free_?"

"He never let him ‘free’, Tasha," Clint said in frustration, "Bruce and Hulk are the same damn person, one of them's just a little bigger. They're both angry as hell, but Bruce knows how to balance it out. That's why he meditates all the time, he--" Clint stopped, and Tony's heart followed suit. "Canada," Clint said, "he went to Canada. British Colombia. Somewhere, some little cabin or hut. Bella Coola? Something like that."

"JARVIS," Tony said, but JARVIS was already bringing up the satellite feed.

"He won't be there yet, Tony," Natasha said.

“If we’re right,” Steve said, glancing at Clint, who nodded, “it’ll still take him hours to get up there from Portland.”

"What else do you expect me to do, but look?" Tony snapped.

"Tony," Steve said gently, "let's get some lunch."

"I--"

"Come on." Steve grabbed Tony's elbow gently, sending a spark jolting through him. He allowed himself to be pulled from the conference room and towards the kitchen.

*

Night had long since fallen by the time JARVIS's search parameters turned up a result.

"My scans have detected something you may wish to see, sir," JARVIS said, jolting Tony out of his doze on the couch of the group living room. The others looked up sluggishly from the television as JARVIS projected a map in the air, followed by a driver's license and car registration. Thor snored lightly from his reinforced lounge chair.

"This is really Big Brother, Stark," Clint muttered as Tony zoomed in as far as he could before the satellite picture went blurry. "Even for you."

"JARVIS, who owns the car?"

"As of 5 PM yesterday, a Mr. Hoban Washburne," JARVIS supplied.

"Well, shit," Tony said, sitting up properly. He almost let himself smile. "That's him."

"How do you know?" Steve asked, back straightening to stare at the picture of the car beside Tony.

"Bruce's favorite _Firefly_ character," Tony got to his feet. "JARVIS, are you tracking the car?"

"Unfortunately, sir, the darkness of the area makes it nearly impossible to track one car traveling through the Canadian wilderness," JARVIS said apologetically. Tony's spirits began to sink. "However, if Mr. Barton's assumptions are correct--"

"Hell yeah, they are."

"-- monitoring the Bella Coola area _should_ provide us with Dr. Banner's location, which would have been my primary means of tracking him had I not discovered the forged identification. I estimate that he will reach his destination in approximately six hours."

"Right," Tony said, getting to his feet, "log us a flight pattern, JARVIS, and I'll--"

"You aren't going alone, Stark," Natasha said, looking up at him.

"I can't bring the whole team, he'll freak out," Tony said, "it didn't work in Chicago, did it? He needs to know we aren't going to bring him back and force him in a cage. I just need to talk to him--"

"He's right," Steve interrupted Tony, which usually would have made him angry, except Steve was _agreeing_ with him for once. He was confident in something, at least. Tony let himself believe for a moment that it was him.

"See?" Tony said, "Cap agrees, I'm going alone. See ya."

"No, Tony, that's not what I mean," Steve said, grabbing Tony's arm as he tried to escape from the room. "You're right about Bruce feeling cornered if all of us go."

"I honestly don't think Thor's going, anyways," Clint said. "He's pretty much agreed that what Bruce does is Bruce's business. And I don't know if he'll react that well to Nat, after she brought him in that first time. Sorry, Nat," he said apologetically. Natasha shrugged noncommittally before she turned back to Steve and Tony. Her eyes danced between the two of them.

"Fine, Barton, we're his friends, we'll go," Tony huffed, "I’ll let you fly the Quinjet. I call shotgun." He turned again, but Steve kept him in a viselike grip that was more annoying than titillating, unfortunately.

Clint looked at the ground and rubbed at the back of his neck with a hand. "Uh, actually," he said, not daring to meet Tony in the eye, "as much as I miss Bruce, and I know he's better off here, I'm not sure I could convince him to come back. Not if running away is what he's decided he really wants." Tony clenched his fists.

"Then who --?" Tony started, but he wasn't stupid, Steve was right next to him, full of intent and determination. "No," Tony shook his head. Steve finally released him so he could look at Tony properly. Tony backed away, almost tripping over his feet as he stumbled backwards. "No, no way, not Steve, you're --" he stopped and looked around the room.

 _You're the reason Bruce left,_ he wanted to say. But he couldn't admit that, not with Clint and Natasha right there. It wasn't fair to Bruce, and as much as Tony was chagrined to admit it to himself, it wasn’t fair to Steve, either.

"Fine," Tony grit out. "Let's just go."

*

It was dark when they left New York, and it was dark when Tony opened his eyes to see the first few rays of dawn blooming over the clouds. He looked over to Steve in the pilot's seat, his eyes fixed firmly ahead as he flew them closer and closer to Bruce. He felt hopeful, but for what, Tony couldn’t tell.

There was nothing that Steve could possibly gain from this trip…if Tony succeeded, at least. Tony didn’t want to think about what would happen if Bruce wasn’t there, or if he refused to return, but he could guess how things would play out. Tony wondered if Steve hoped for that ending instead.

Tony wanted to hope. He wanted to think that Bruce was at the other end of this flight, but all he could imagine was another dead end. He hadn't slept at all for the past six hours, as much as the comfortable humming of the Quinjet's engines and Steve's reassuring presence attempted to lull him into a false sense of security.

Tony considered opening his mouth and telling Steve to forget about it, to turn back. Defeat might be better, somehow, if they gave up and accepted it. But Steve spoke before Tony could.

"We're here," he said, and began their descent.

The Quinjet dove through the wavy blanket of clouds, the dark, starry sky above receding as they dipped lower. It was like going underwater, Tony thought to himself; as much time as he'd spent in the sky, he'd always been too drunk or too concerned with fighting bad guys to actually pay attention to the fluidity of flight.

Suddenly, they were over land instead of clouds. The Quinjet began to slow as it lost altitude, heading towards an expanse of yellow-green field spattered by sparse trees. Tony saw a road like a snake in the distance, a dirt road branching off of it and towards a cabin.

"JARVIS, is the car en route?" Tony said, thinking of the projected time.

"The car has arrived," JARVIS replied, "due to, I presume, short cuts and a blatant disregard for traffic laws."

Tony allowed himself the ghost of a smile.

"Sounds like Bruce," he said. "Road rage, all the time."

"He'll know we're coming," Steve said, not sparing Tony a glance as he began to land the Quinjet. Tony hadn't flown with him much, didn't even know who'd taught him how to fly the Quinjet (Barton, probably), but he was a smooth pilot. "Can't hide a Quinjet. Not out here."

"Yeah," Tony said. He felt a sinking feeling in his chest. "But, at least we're not cornering him."

Steve hummed in agreement.

The Quinjet came to a halt in the middle of the field, landing some distance away from the little cabin. It was a tiny, ramshackle little thing, but with the light of early dawn splayed out over it, it almost had a rustic charm.

It was raining, Tony realized as big fat drops of rain splattered the wide window on the Quinjet. He'd never even thought to check the weather before they left; he was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and hadn't even thought to bring a jacket. The cabin looked even cozier in the rain, and Tony thought he could detect the warm glow of a lamp from within.

Tony sat still in the co-pilot seat, not even bothering to unbuckle his seat-belt, and stared at the cabin. He tried to imagine Bruce inside, grabbing up his bags and looking over his shoulder as he bolted for the back door. Tony froze in his seat.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Steve asked, leaning over to brush his hand over Tony's. Tony started.

"What?" he said, flinching as he realized what Steve meant. He didn't plan on going with Tony to convince Bruce. He never had. He was going to let Tony do this alone, if he wanted to. "Uh," Tony swallowed, "do you want to?"

"Only if you want me to," Steve said. He pulled back, giving Tony the space he needed. Tony looked away as the rain on the windows began to get heavier. "I think you can handle this alone, if you want to."

Tony felt Steve's confidence and decided, just this once, to take some of it.

"No. I have to do this on my own," Tony said.

Steve didn't smile as Tony unbuckled his seat belt and stood up to stretch his limbs, but Tony felt it, somehow.

"Thanks," Tony said quietly as the hatch opened to let him outside.

He didn’t run up to the cabin or make an effort to hide his approach, giving Bruce (or whoever was inside) plenty of time to see him coming. He almost forgot about the cold rain as he made his way to the door of the cabin and, without hesitation, knocked.

Tony didn’t expect an answer, and there wasn't one, so he knocked again and took a step back, waiting.

"Hey," he said, calling loudly enough that his voice should carry through the door of the cabin (it really was a rickety old thing, up close, not quite fallen into disrepair but not kept well, either; he wondered vaguely who even owned it, if Bruce was a squatter or the owner). "Bruce? You there?"

There was no answer, but Tony never let anything stop him from talking.

"It's Tony," he said, "I know, you're scared. Or, well," he said quickly, backtracking, "not scared. Angry. That's your thing. But, uh, I wanted to talk. You listening?"

The pattering of the rain on the roof of the cabin turned sharp as it began to pour.

"Fuck," Tony muttered as his shirt became drenched with cold rain.

"Right," he yelled over the rain, "it's pouring out here, so I'm going to assume you're listening and laughing while you're nice and dry and I'm fucking freezing out here." Tony reached into his jeans pocket for Bruce's letter. It was soaked through already, and the ink had begun to blot and blur on the page. It didn't matter. Tony already knew it by heart.

" _'You deserve happiness,'_ " Tony read, "uh, that's bullshit, I'm pretty sure all the karma I racked up all those years from war profiteering says otherwise." He paused, because that's when Bruce would chuckle and smile, if he were face to face with Tony. "Yeah, laugh it up, Banner," he muttered, forcing a smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony thought he saw something move in the window. He took it as encouragement.

"Number two," he said, holding up the crumpled, soaked paper again to pretend to read the words he recited from memory, " _'the kind of happiness I'll never be able to give you.'_ Uh, calling bullshit again," Tony huffed. "Because I was," he swallowed. "Happy. With you. It wasn’t perfect, but really? Me? Perfect happiness? See above: bad karma."

" _'I never intended for--'_ Actually, you know what?" Tony said, letting the letter fall out of his hands to the muddy ground. "I don't think anyone could have seen this coming. Do you really think, when I shook your hand and tried to piss you off, that I ever imagined you could ever make _me_ happy? For six months -- six months, that's a fucking record with me, okay?" He sucked in air through his teeth. "Even if it's only ever going to be six months, I was happy for those six months."

"And I know what you were trying to say, that I deserve better than you, that I should go with Steve because fate thinks we belong together, or some shit. But I can't, okay? Because he's not -- he isn't --" Tony felt his voice break over the words, and he didn't know why, because he wasn't crying, he wasn't facing Bruce, he was yelling at a goddamn door in the rain in some backwater town in Canada because he thought there was a chance that Bruce _might_ be listening somehow.

"I'm fucking insane," Tony moaned, cupping his face in his hands. "I'm talking to a door. There's probably some crazy old man inside this cabin, listening to Tony Stark pouring his heart out to thin air and wondering if he should get the shotgun out." Tony kicked at the puddle forming at his feet. "There really is a Hoban Washburne, and he's laughing at me," he told the ground, "because I, Tony Stark, am a fucking idiot."

"Yes, you are."

Tony started when he looked up, nearly slipping backwards in the rain.

Bruce stood in the doorway of the cabin. Tony's breath caught in his throat; he looked ragged and tired, unshaved and a little damp, as though he'd just been out in the rain or finished washing up. He wore a plaid shirt over an old t-shirt and jeans, and he was in his stocking feet. Tony didn't know what to say.

Bruce looked over Tony's head at the Quinjet. Tony wanted to turn to see what he was staring at, if he could see Steve in the window, but he didn't want to turn his eyes away from Bruce, just in case he disappeared again. Bruce looked back to Tony, looked him up and down, and sighed.

"Did you bring Thor with you?"

Tony didn't know what he expected Bruce to say, but it wasn't that.

"Uh, we -- no," Tony stammered stupidly. "Thor didn’t want to get involved. It's just me. And Steve," he added, and then cursed himself for mentioning Steve when Bruce's face fell.

"Oh," Bruce said, "I thought you might've asked Thor to make it rain."

"Why would I want rain? I'm freezing, here!" Tony shifted from one foot to the other, shoes squelching to prove his point.

"I don't know," Bruce shrugged, "it's theatric. Romantic. You might've thought it would help change my mind. Like in _The Notebook._ "

"I've never seen _The Notebook,_ " Tony said.

"Me neither," Bruce admitted with a small shrug. Tony stared at him and licked his lips, unsure of what to say. He tasted rainwater and salt.

"Look, if you want to leave--"

"I'm sorry--"

They started and stopped at once, both stumbling over words.

"You go first," Bruce said politely, as Tony said, "Go ahead." In a stalemate, they stared at each other, willing the other to speak first.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Bruce said firmly before Tony could get another word out. “I want this.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah?” Tony replied, never wise enough to back down from a threat. “Well, _I_ don’t. Maybe I would’ve let you go if you had, you know, taken your phone with you, or just talked to me first.”

Bruce heaved a sigh. “Either way, it’s not your decision, Tony.”

“Really? Because I’m getting used to that,” he spat back, “I never get a say in _anything_ that happens to me anymore. And I get it, I get that it’s your life, too, but it isn’t fair. You can’t just leave me like that.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Bruce snorted. “I thought you’d know that by now.”

“Oh, shut up, stop acting all noble.” Tony flung his hands out and said loudly, “Fuck this. I just wanted to talk to you! I just poured my heart out to you in the freezing cold rain, and I still don’t know if you even heard me.” He crossed his arms to try to still them, and hide the way his hands shook.

"From number two onwards," Bruce admitted. "Impressive speech. Did you practice it?" he said with an eyeroll. Tony huffed, his breath turning to mist before his eyes.

"Oh, don't give me that, Banner," Tony said, hugging his arms closer for warmth, "don’t get defensive. I'm not here to force you to come back; I couldn't if I tried, and you know that." Bruce snorted. "I'm just sick and tired of you thinking and planning and making a move before you even know you're right."

Bruce started to protest, "I don't--"

"You do!" Tony said, flinging his hands into the air. "Every time. You pretty much decided for me that I'd be happier with Steve than you. I don't know why you even left a note! Why did you bother, if you thought I wouldn't care?"

"I was saying goodbye," Bruce said, squaring his shoulders, "not that you'd know the meaning of that word, because you came and found me anyways."

"You're the one who told me to go after what I needed," Tony spat.

"I didn't--"

"' _You should never be afraid to pursue what you really need.'_ " Tony quoted. "What gets me is, how could you ever think that was something other than you?"

Bruce didn't say anything at that. He looked downwards, towards his feet, and Tony found the courage to keep looking at Bruce.

"I need you, Bruce," he said. His voice was too low, his words buried underneath the pouring rain, but his throat wouldn't unclench enough to let him say loudly enough, "I can't do this without you."

"I think," Bruce started, and then cleared his throat. "I think you've confused 'need' with 'want.'"

"Nope," Tony shook his head. "Wanna know how I know? I _want_ Steve, sure. He’s great, he’s swell, whatever. But he’s not _you_. And I don’t think I can get through this without you anymore."

"It's not that simple, Tony." Bruce shook his head and finally looked up to meet Tony in the eye again. "I'm not the best thing there is for you."

"Since when have I ever done what's best for me?" Tony said, half a sardonic smile on his face. "I don't know if this is ever going to be the best option, but I think the best option was thrown out the window when we became superheroes," he laughed humorlessly. "I think we have to make the best of it. And I think we can be the best, or damn near close to it."

"It'll never be a Bond," Bruce said, shaking his head as he stepped back from the doorway, a hand on the door, ready to close it. "I'll never be able to give you that."

"Fuck the Bond!" Tony said vehemently. "Fuck fate! I don’t give a shit about soulmates or Bonds or empathic connections, or whatever the hell this is. Since when do I let _anyone_ tell me what to do? Fuck the Bond, fuck Steve, fuck the team, and fuck Reed Richards, he's a douchebag," Tony yelled. "Fuck it all. Because I've got something better."

Tony thought that he caught the flicker of a smile on the curves of Bruce's mouth, but it might've been the rain.

A moment later, Bruce ran out of his cabin, and then he was kissing Tony, in the rain, in his stocking feet, in the middle of a puddle of mud.

It might have been romantic, if Tony wasn't freezing and soaking wet, or if Bruce wasn't _still_ embarrassingly taller than Tony even without shoes, or if he wasn't shivering and sobbing pathetically in Bruce's arms. He pulled away from the kiss to bury his face into Bruce's neck. Bruce held him tightly and rubbed soothing circles into his back, trying to calm him down as he gasped for air and cried into Bruce’s shoulder.

Tony poked his cold nose underneath the collar of Bruce's shirt and took a deep breath, savoring the smell of _Bruce_ ; dust and mint and citrus gum, sweat and tea and fabric softener, soap and the sanitizer he used in his lab. Home.

Bruce began to shake underneath Tony's hold and Tony pulled away.

"What--?" he started, holding Bruce at arm's length and stopping when he realized that Bruce was _laughing._

"Five days," Bruce said, his eyes screwed into wrinkly slits from holding back his laughter. "For five days, I run away, you come find me and yell at me in the pouring, freezing rain of Canada, and the first thing you do is _smell me._ "

"Were you imagining something a little warmer?" Tony smiled. He pointed with his thumb at the Quinjet behind him. "Because Steve can wait a little longer, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we disappeared for a quickie in your nice little cabin before we go back home. Which, by the way, is very cute, Mr. Washburne."

"Shut up," Bruce said, clearly trying not to smile. "I never said I was going back with you."

"It was heavily implied when you kissed me," Tony scowled.

“We’ll have to talk,” Bruce said finally, and Tony had always known that was coming. “About a lot of things. We’ve been avoiding too much, lately, Tony. I know we both have our fair share of problems…but you never want to talk about it. There’s the panic attacks, the drinking, and the fact that you always think I’m mad at you--”

“You are,” Tony frowned. “You’re always angry.”

“But not at _you,_ ” Bruce said with a pained expression. “Tony—“

“Okay,” Tony said, cutting Bruce off. “We’ll talk. Later. When we’re dry.” He looked down at the two of them, both soaked by the freezing rain, and smiled halfheartedly. “If you are coming back, after all.”

"Fine," Bruce sighed, long-sufferingly, as though it were really just that easy. "I guess you're stuck with me, now."

"Right," Tony chuckled in relief. He wondered what it was that had changed Bruce's mind, but he couldn't ask, not now, not when Bruce was soaked to the skin underneath his fingertips. No, Tony never planned on letting go. "Let's get out of here."

"Let me get my shoes, first," Bruce said, looking down at his socks and sighing. "So much for romantic gestures."

" _I'll_ show you a romantic gesture if you let me inside that cabin of yours," Tony said, waggling an eyebrow and dragging Bruce through the door by his hand.

His hand was wet, and soft, and didn't fit perfectly at all. But it was Bruce's touch that warmed Tony down to the bone, and that was all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the comments and kudos! :) The epilogue will be posted within the next few days.


	4. Epilogue

**3 Months Later**

"So, what you're telling me is that you've found a _Bondmate_?" Rhodey said in disbelief. He raised a hand to blast the lizard-like alien in front of him. "Four months ago. And you're telling me _now_?"

"It didn't come up," Tony said through their private comm. He stopped and watched from midair as Iron Patriot took out another Badoon. "But, I mean, I thought you should know, since you're fighting with the Avengers today, and--"

"You thought I should know _just_ _because I'm fighting with you_?" Rhodey said. "Seriously, Tony?"

"Hey, boys," Natasha said over the team comm, "less chatting. More fighting."

"Yes, ma'am," Rhodey said, after a glance in Tony’s direction.

"I like him," Natasha said over the sounds of alien gunfire coming through her mic. "Can we keep him?" Tony made a strangled noise.

"I think the Air Force has dibs," Rhodey said apologetically.

"It is a shame, then," Thor added.

"Not if he's Air Force," Cap teased.

"Hey, kids," Hawkeye said, "think fast." And, as usual, Barton jumped off the rooftop where he was stationed.

"Got it," Tony said, swooping over the street and the battle below to pluck Hawkeye out of the air. He looked up in time to see the side of the Badoon mothership crunch into the corner of the building, sending concrete flying.

"Thanks," Clint said as Tony set him beside Natasha.

"So," Tony said casually to Rhodey, "how about you?"

"Me?" Rhodey laughed incredulously. “A Bondmate? Sure. That'll happen." He fired his repulsors.

"What about, uh, whatshername?" Tony asked, turning to look at Rhodey from across the battleground. "Blonde. Pilot. Threatened to kick my ass."

"Carol?" Rhodey asked. "I don't even think she likes me."

"Are you kidding me? She --"

"Iron Man, three o'clock!" Cap shouted suddenly. Tony turned in time to dodge the blast and pointed his repulsors at the encroaching aliens, but they didn't seem perturbed.

"Cap!" Tony warned, but Steve was already there, his shield pointed at the perfect angle. Tony's unibeam blasted off the shield, taking them out in one blast. Tony could hear Rhodey swearing over the comms.

"We need to shut down their ship," Cap said, dusting off his hands. “If we can--"

"HULK SMASH!"

They all turned, even the Badoon on the street below, to watch as the Hulk jumped high, high into the sky to land on top of the mothership with a satisfying _crunch_. He began to tear it apart, throwing off the Badoon that crawled precariously onto the ship's hull to shoot at him in vain. Tony blinked as he saw arrows flying, and realized that the whooping over the comms came from Hawkeye, perched on Hulk's shoulders to shoot at anything that moved.

"That idiot," Natasha muttered fondly. The moment over, they all dove back into the fight.

Hulk took the ship down in a matter of minutes; unfortunately for them, that meant that tons of metal and armed Badoon were aimed at Manhattan with nowhere to go.

"Um," Tony said, still blasting at the foot soldiers, "We have sixty seconds to --"

"-- Put it in the water," Cap said as Tony took to the skies to try to steer the damn ship’s descent. They weren't that far from the Hudson, thankfully, but it took moments of heart wrenching pushing for Tony, Thor, and Rhodey to move it over the water. The ship landed with a splash and the bottom half sunk, leaving the waters lapping against the metal.

"Was that wise?" Natasha said over the comms.

"Don't know, don't care," Tony said as he flew with the others back towards the action. Most of the Badoon were down, but there were still stragglers putting up a fight.

"I wish these things were like the Chitauri," Clint complained as he shot a boomerang arrow at one. "Take out the ship, they all go down."

"Can't always be that easy," Steve said.

"Or convenient," Tony added.

"Yeah, because an alien invasion over one of the most densely populated cities on Earth is _convenient_ ," Rhodey scoffed. He paused. "Look at me, talking like this stuff is normal."

"It is when you are an Avenger," Thor grinned.

Hulk roared his agreement.

*

“Oh my god, are we being invaded by aliens again?” Pepper said the moment Tony answered her call. He was en route to Avengers Tower for a much deserved rest after the battle. That was no excuse to ignore a call from Pepper, though, unfortunately.

“We _were_ being invaded by aliens again,” Tony corrected her. “Past tense.”

She huffed, “Like that makes a difference. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” he said flippantly.

“Look,” Pepper said, “I know you’re busy, with your Avenging and your boyfriend—“

“Not my boyfriend.”

“—But we need to do a little press on the new factory opening, and there’s this charity gala, and—are you even listening?”

“ _Boyfriend,_ ” Tony said in a disgusted voice, “like we’re twelve or something.”

“Fine, Life Hostage, whatever you call him,” Pepper sighed.

“’Partners in crime,’ or something. And you’re practically married; you don’t get to poke fun.” Tony landed on the strip outside Avengers Tower, but he kept the armor on until he was inside and could switch Pepper’s call to his tablet. He flung his arms out and the armor flew away into a panel inside the wall, where it would be sent down to his workshop for repairs.

“No, I’ve been there, that’s why I get to make fun,” she said. “Whatever you two are, I need you and Bruce in tuxes and in a plane to California for this gala. Not in that order. You can’t forget this one. And you can’t have sex in the _coat closet_ this time, Tony, I swear, we dropped—“

“Points were not dropped on that occasion, if I recall correctly,” Tony said, “although pants were.” Pepper groaned.

“You have corrupted that poor man,” she shook her head.

“Why is it always _me_ who corrupts? What if Bruce is the toxic influence? That man is secretly devious, I tell you, with his adorable little ‘I’m sorry,’ face. He just bats his eyelashes and he can get away with anything.”

“Mmhmm, because he’s the only one who’s ever tried to do that,” Pepper said skeptically.

“Pepper, come on, you know I won’t forget. I’ll be there, you know I will,” he said, using his best innocent face.

“No, I don’t. But I do know that Bruce will get you there on time, because I’m adding it to your calendar.” She turned away from the screen for a moment, presumably to change his digital calendar, and then fixed Tony with a look through the screen that pierced the thousands of miles between them. “Also, I’m your goddamn CEO, Tony,” she said sternly, “I’m not your PA anymore. I’m sick of fielding your calls and your emails. I keep getting your letters—“

“I do not! It’s not my fault everyone emails the wrong department—“

“—And there’s this Strange guy, he keeps bothering me, and he never leaves a return address!—“

“—Maybe you just need a vacation. We’ll come down and pick you up and swing by to the Bahamas or something, or that island—“

“—I mean, who uses _paper_ mail these days, anyways? Especially when trying to contact Stark Industries—“

“Wait,” Tony said, holding up a hand to stop Pepper. “What’s so strange about this guy? Is it something I should worry about? I can get SHIELD to--”

“Not a _strange_ guy, a guy named Strange,” Pepper said. “He keeps sending these letters, talking about meeting you or something, I don’t know, maybe he doesn’t have a computer. You know how some people are about technology.” She chewed on her lip for a moment, thinking. “Is this something to do with the Avengers?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to get involved in any more of your,” she paused to gesture wildly.

“No, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Tony said. “I, uh, had JARVIS try to track this guy down for me. It’s not important anymore,” he said nonchalantly, waving a hand.

“Here it is,” Pepper said, pulling out a letter written on paper. “Blah blah blah, Mr. Stark, if you wish to have an audience, blah blah blah.”

“Hey, uh, why don’t you have them air-mailed over?” Tony suggested. “I’ll take a look, don’t worry about it.” He watched as Pepper’s eyes moved across the letter, reading it. “It’s fine, Pep, you don’t have to—“

“He’s a doctor,” Pepper said, eyes widening at the letter. “You’re not sick again, are you?” she said frantically. “Tony, why can’t you just _tell me_ when something’s up? I’m not going to bite your head off!”

“You are,” Tony interrupted, “you totally are, you’re doing it right now.”

“If you need a doctor, why can’t you just contact a normal one? Or is it an Avengers thing? Why is it _always_ an Avengers thing?”

“Pepper,” Tony said, “take a deep breath. I’m not sick. He’s just a doctor. Like Bruce. Or me, actually, and I couldn’t apply a band aid if I tried.”

“Yeah,” she narrowed her eyes, “remember that time you gave yourself stitches because you didn’t want to go to the hospital? Because I do.”

“That was _once,_ ” Tony argued. “Come on, Pep, just mail them over. I promise, he’s not that kind of doctor. Anymore. That I know of, I’ve technically never met the guy, I just—“

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted, “Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers, and Miss Romanoff have returned to the Tower. They are on the way to their rooms now.”

“Gotta go, Pep, mail me that stuff, would ya?” Tony said distractedly, waving at the camera on his tablet.

“Wait,” Pepper said, “what do you mean, ‘not that kind of doctor’? What kind of doctor is he?”

“Bye,” Tony said.

“Tony, I swear, if you don’t—“

He cut off the video feed with a sigh. His tablet dinged a moment later with an instant message from Pepper.

 _You’re an asshole,_ it read. A moment later, another message appeared.

_Be careful, okay?_

Tony stared at it for a moment before he replied, _always am._

He set his tablet down on a table and made his way towards the elevator.

*

The shower was still running when Tony slipped through the open door. The room was steamed up from the hot water, droplets hanging in the air like a fog, and gathering as condensation on the mirror and white tiles of the wall. Tony shucked off his clothes, throwing them at the hamper next to Bruce’s, and slid the tinted shower door open enough to poke his head inside.

“ _Hello_ ,” Tony smirked, winking. Bruce laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Get in here,” Bruce said with a long-suffering sigh, still smiling. Tony climbed inside the shower, sliding the door shut behind him. The hot water sprayed over him, washing the traces of sweat and grease from his skin.

“Gonna make yourself useful?” Bruce joked. He handed Tony his shampoo bottle, raised his eyebrows, and attempted to look serious. He failed.

“Remember the first time we did this?” Tony asked. He poured some shampoo into his hand and stepped forward, standing up on his tip-toes to reach Bruce’s head. Bruce ducked obligingly and Tony began to work the shampoo into the roots of his hair.

“The first time you snuck into my shower? Or the first time you tried to seduce me?” Bruce said wryly. Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

“The former. Both. Whatever.”

The smell of mint and spice blossomed underneath Tony’s hands as he washed away the dirt and dust from the battle.

“Yes,” Bruce said, still smiling, but he didn’t give in to Tony’s game.

“Just a ‘yes’?” Tony said flatly, “What, your memory going, old man?”

“Either that or I blocked the memories out,” Bruce joked. He paused for a moment as Tony ran his hands through Bruce’s soapy hair. “You practically carried me into the shower. It was after a rough fight. What was it…Skrulls?”

“Skrulls,” Tony nodded.

“I hate Skrulls,” Bruce frowned. “ _Hulk_ hates Skrulls.”

“Sure loved smashing them, though.”

When Tony began to rinse the suds from Bruce’s hair, Bruce squinted his eyes shut.

“Was there a point to all this?” Bruce asked as Tony swept his hands through Bruce’s dark hair, washing the suds down the drain.

“I just…” Tony trailed off, hating himself for how hard it was to voice his feelings.

“Wish it could be as easy as it seemed back then?” Bruce asked, surprising Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony whispered.

“I used to think that,” Bruce said. “It always seems like the past is easier. But it’s not. It never was. It’s just easier to face now that it’s behind you.”

Tony took advantage of the moment to stare at him, the way his face scrunched up and gave away into wrinkles, how his hair turned dark and black when it was soaked through, the curve of his thick shoulders and the muscles that rippled underneath his skin.

“You’re staring at me,” Bruce said, his eyes still screwed up again the shampoo. “It’s creepy.”

“It’s totally not creepy,” Tony said, rinsing away the rest of the shampoo. Bruce straightened and looked down at Tony, eyebrows raised. Tony tried to pull himself up to his full height, but he was at a disadvantage.

“Creepy,” Bruce said, but he grabbed Tony’s shampoo and turned Tony around to wash his hair. Tony closed his eyes.

“You’re probably right,” Tony admitted. It was easier to say it with his eyes closed. “It just seemed so…simple back then,” he said, continuing on his previous tangent. Bruce’s hands were warm and gentle against his scalp as he worked the shampoo into Tony’s hair.

“There’s never been anything simple about this,” Bruce said. “ _Us_ , I mean.”

“Yeah, but I wish it would be,” Tony grumbled childishly. Bruce let his hands down from Tony’s soapy hair to rest on his shoulders.

“I almost left that night, after I woke up with you in my bed,” Bruce said suddenly. Tony’s stomach clenched up when he thought about it, the first night he’d fallen asleep in bed with Bruce, months ago. “I knew one of us was going to get hurt eventually. I’ve seen what happens when relationships dry up. I didn’t want that to happen to us.”

“But you didn’t,” Tony said, because he remembered waking up next to Bruce, the strange combination of panic and happiness when he realized who he’d wrapped an arm around in his sleep.

“No.”

They lapsed into silence as Bruce rinsed the soap out of Tony’s hair. When he was done, Tony turned, opening his mouth to speak, but Bruce beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, looking down at Tony with sad brown eyes. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“I’m going to have to agree with you there,” Tony paused, “but, in the end, it’s your choice. It’s always your choice.”

“Even if we get hurt? I don’t want to hurt you again, Tony.”

“I think part of this whole ‘relationship’ thing is deciding whether or not the happiness is worth the risk,” Tony said.

“You might be on to something, there,” Bruce said.

Tony knew they’d have to talk later, that they had more of their fair share of issues to work out that they’d avoided for far too long, but he wanted to cherish the moment now. He leaned forward and up and kissed Bruce slowly, closed his eyes and tried to forget about everything except the kiss.

When he pulled away, Bruce smiled down at him, “I see now, you obviously had an ulterior motive when you got into the shower with me,” he said sardonically.

“Me?” Tony clapped a hand to his chest dramatically. “Never!”

He set his hands on Bruce’s shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss.

When their lips met, Tony opened his mouth and let his eyes fall shut. Bruce’s mouth was warm as he kissed Tony back lazily. He tasted like water and toothpaste. Tony let his hands run down Bruce’s wet arms as he kissed him, bringing them down to rest on Bruce’s naked hips, and Bruce wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders.

Bruce made a small noise in the back of his throat when Tony pulled back and started pressing small kisses down his jaw. The stubble was rough and prickly against his lips. He tasted salt on Bruce’s skin and rubbed little circles into the hollow of Bruce’s hips with his fingertips, stopping only to whisper devilishly in Bruce’s ear, “Can I start getting sexed already?”

“Really?” Bruce whined, resting his heavy forehead on Tony’s shoulder. “In context, that’s not even—“

“Seriously,” Tony said, “I’m all out of _Firefly_ quotes, sorry. If you want more, we’ll have to find a new show. How do you feel about _Doctor Who_?”

 “I’m not sure we can watch every episode of _Doctor Who_ ,” Bruce said, “there are hundreds of episodes.”

“We can do it,” Tony said confidently. “But, before we do that…” he trailed off, scrunching his eyes closed in thought. “Can you sonic me, Doctor?” he said with a twist of his hips.

Bruce groaned loudly.

“No,” he said as he lifted his head from Tony’s shoulder, “no, I cannot – _Tony_!” He tried to bite back a laugh as Tony slid a hand down his chest seductively.

“Mmm?” Tony asked, biting his lip and giving Bruce a look.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “What about Steve?”

“What about him?” Tony asked, halting. “He crashed. Fast asleep. Might have some particularly good dreams, but he doesn’t care.” He smirked.

“No,” Bruce said, shaking his head, “I meant – have you ever thought – I mean, do you want—?“

“To have sex with Steve?” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, uh, you mentioned—“

“I was joking about the threesome,” Tony said, a little disappointed by this turn of events. He was half-hard from Bruce’s touch and tense from the fight. He wanted to have hot shower sex with Bruce, not talk about this. Not _now._ “I don’t want that.”

“Really?” Bruce said, and he sounded surprised. Tony’s chest constricted slightly at the thought that Bruce _still_ didn’t think Tony really wanted him. “I don’t…” he trailed off.

“Look,” Tony said plainly, looking Bruce in the eye, “I’m attracted to Steve, okay? I’ve had a crush on Captain America since forever, probably.” He sighed. “But…being with him, that would hurt you. And I can’t…”

“If that’s what you really wanted, we could--” Bruce started, but Tony caught how his eyes darted downwards.

“No,” Tony said suddenly. “Steve and I? What we’ve got? That’s not what I have with you. Sure, he’s hot, but I’d rather have you, any day, Bond or not. Everyone probably thinks I’m crazy, but you…you and me, we got something that Steve and I will never have.”

“I love you,” Bruce said abruptly, staring at him like he’d grown another head or something. It felt like the first time Tony had heard him say the words in a long time.

“And I love you,” Tony murmured, leaning up again to kiss Bruce.

Bruce pushed Tony back against the white tiled wall of the shower, out of the stream of the hot shower. Tony laughed delightedly when they pulled apart for air, and then Bruce was kissing him again, his mouth hot and slick under Tony’s. Tony gasped when Bruce skated his fingers across Tony’s damp skin, toying with one of his nipples for a moment before reaching down and taking Tony’s dick in his hand.

Tony felt as though all the blood in his body was rushing too fast, and he took a breath to steady himself as his cock grew hard in Bruce’s hand.

“This okay?” Bruce asked. Tony nodded once and stepped forward to kiss him again and show him just how okay it _was._ He pulled Bruce’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to rip a moan from Bruce’s throat.

Tony felt Bruce’s hard cock against his hip and wrapped his hand around it. Bruce reciprocated in kind, tightening his grip on Tony’s dick and using the moisture of the shower to increase the friction of his movements. Tony felt his hips buck, almost as of their own accord, and he began to thrust into Bruce’s hand.

“Hey,” Bruce muttered over the rushing water of the shower, “don’t you have a job to do?”

Tony quirked an eyebrow, “You want—?” He started.

“No,” Bruce interrupted him with a shake of his head. “I just mean, move your goddamn hand, Tony.”

“Like this?” Tony said, twisting his wrist around Bruce’s cock. Bruce leaned closer into Tony, greedily seeking skin with the hand that Tony wasn’t bucking into.

“Y-yes,” Bruce panted, thrusting into Tony. “I want to come with you.”

Tony tilted his head up to kiss Bruce again at that. It took way too much motor function to press his lips to Bruce’s as Bruce jerked him off and he ran his hand up and down Bruce’s cock, but he managed somehow. They were geniuses, after all.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Bruce gasped.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Oh yeah, I am.”

“No,” Bruce let out a crackling laugh, the sound catching in his throat. “You said we’re geniuses.”

“So we are,” Tony said. “Any arguments?”

“Not from me – _fuck_ ,” Bruce cut off as Tony quickened his hand on Bruce’s cock. He tried to match Tony’s speed and the two of them quieted, except for the sounds of their breathless moans and wet skin on skin.

Tony felt a wave of heat break over him and gasped out Bruce’s name as he came, eyes screwed blissfully shut as he let white waves of pleasure wash over him. He opened his eyes in time to see Bruce come as well, his face washed clean of visible tension. His red, swollen mouth was parted in pure bliss, and Tony wanted to lean forward and kiss the blush on his skin.

Bruce opened his eyes and caught Tony staring at him again. Tony was the first to laugh, to pull Bruce close and kiss the smile right off his face. Chuckling, Bruce kissed Tony with eyes half-lidded. Tony watched the droplets of water in Bruce’s eyelashes drip when he blinked.

“What is it?” Bruce asked in a murmur as he reached for a washcloth to wipe sweat and semen from their skin. He was gentle as he wiped Tony’s skin clean.

“Nothing, I just,” Tony cut off under Bruce’s disbelieving look. “I’m glad you came back.”

Bruce looked down at his feet, blushing. He looked up with a smile on his lips and whispered, “Me, too.”

 *

"Hey, can you pass me the pliers?"

Tony sat at his workbench, fiddling with a panel off his suit, trying to see if a rewiring in his preferred design of the gauntlet would make a difference in power output. The workbench was covered in tools and at least five pairs of pliers, but Steve only hummed absently and handed over the blue ones Tony was thinking about.

That still weirded him out a little.

He pinched the last wire into place and sighed triumphantly, setting it down on the workbench with the others. Tony surveyed his work. He was almost done, but he needed a break. His eyes were going buggy.

Tony reached forward, watching Steve from the corner of his eye, and pulled the corner of an envelope from underneath a stack of physical plans and papers, checking it was still there. He’d read it time and time again since Pepper had sent it over. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, really. It was their last chance.

Tony thought he saw Steve look up at him and catch his supposedly sneaky glance at the envelope.

"Whatcha drawing?" Tony said to cover it up, stretching his neck as he leaned over Steve's corner of the workbench to crowd over his sketchbook.

"It's not done yet," Steve protested, trying to cover his sketchbook with his hands.

"An answer to a question I did not ask," Tony said, trying to shove Steve’s hands aside. "Lemme see it."

"Tony --!" Steve objected as Tony pulled the sketchbook out of his hands. He could have stopped Tony if he really wanted to, he was a super soldier -- or, at least, that's how Tony saw it as he grabbed the drawing from Steve. He held it up to the light to get a proper look at it. Steve didn’t seem too annoyed.

"It's…Hulk," Tony said, brow furrowing. "And Iron Man. Is that…is he giving me a _piggy back ride_?"

Steve laughed as Tony squinted at the sketch of the Hulk, scowling like a chagrined parent, giving Iron Man a ride on his back. The Tony in the picture held his hands up in the air triumphantly, whooping for joy.

"You waste your talent," Tony sighed, handing Steve back the sketchpad. Steve merely laughed and bent back over his work.

Tony had just barely acclimated to the comfortable, empty silence between them, the feel of Steve’s shoulder against his, and absorbed himself back into his work when Steve spoke.

“I’m glad it all worked out,” Steve said. Tony stopped pulling at a tiny copper wire and glanced over at Steve. He was still bent over his sketchpad, half of his face in shadow. “Between you and Bruce, I mean. You really did fight for him.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Tony asked, an eyebrow quirked up skeptically.

“I knew you would,” Steve said, “I just wasn’t sure if you would win or not.” Tony turned back to his work and pulled the wire away.

 “Losing isn’t an option,” he said. “Will you hand me the soldering iron?” he asked, holding out his pliers for Steve to take. Steve handed Tony the soldering iron. He squinted down at the wires that he needed to weld together.

“Is _this_ an option?” Steve asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony watched as Steve spread his palms open. The question hung in the air between them.

“I – ow, _fuck,_ ” Tony swore as he burned his finger on the soldering iron. He didn’t jump and drop it like any other person would do (he was used to accidentally burning himself on his equipment), but Steve flinched and dropped the pencil in his hand.

“Sorry,” Tony muttered as he set the soldering iron and the piece of the Iron Man suit down on the workbench.

“I’ll get some ice,” Steve sighed, swinging his feet over the workbench and walking towards the refrigerator. He wasn’t too worried, just a little concerned and _very_ exasperated.

Tony took his fingers out of his mouth long enough to say, “Steve, come on, it’s okay, I’m fine.”

“You should be more careful, Tony,” Steve said, picking a few ice cubes from the fridge.

“You should stop acting like a mother hen,” Tony muttered back as Steve searched for a rag that wasn’t too dirty. DUM-E traitorously supplied him with an almost-clean towel.

“You should stop trying to watch people out of the corner of your eye when you’re handling hot tools,” Steve countered, wrapping the ice in the towel.

“Look, this is going to go on all day until one of us quits, and you know we never will,” Tony huffed. “I’m hurt, I learned my lesson, and I’ll do it again. Happy?” He crossed his arms.

“Never,” Steve shrugged. He sat down on the workbench beside Tony and tried in vain to pull Tony’s arms apart. “Tony,” he said when Tony refused to budge. Tony sighed and unfolded his arms.

Steve took Tony’s wrist in his hand and pulled it over to him, holding the ice over the burn on Tony’s finger. Tony sighed when the ice hit his burn, and Steve gave him a look that was dripping with smugness.

“I think it is,” Tony said suddenly, his voice quiet. “An option, I mean.”

“You say that like you think we have a choice,” Steve replied, his voice just as soft as Tony’s. “I thought you didn’t see it that way.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure it was about anything like that,” Tony shrugged. “It’s like…Bruce and I. I never planned to – to fall in love with him. You can’t design that; it just happens. And, you and I,” Tony paused.

“We are something, aren’t we?” Steve said, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“No." Tony paused. “Well, hell yeah, we are! But I mean, we’re--” he paused for a moment to squint at Steve, “-- good for each other, I think. You’ve saved my ass a million times, and I’ve always got your back. I don’t know what it is, but we’re like two peas in a pod, you and me. Even if we aren’t…you know.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know, do you think this is an option? Would you…change it, if you could?”

“Not sure I want to mess with fate,” Steve said. “If that’s what this is. Sure, it’s not all a piece of cake, and I wish Clint would stop bugging me, trying to figure out if we’ve had a threesome yet, but—“

Tony’s brain broke a little. “You…threesome?” he managed.

Steve sighed. “No,” he said as he shook his head, “I don’t – Bruce is great and all, but –“

“You don’t feel that way,” Tony said slowly.

“I don’t want that. I think I’d like a… _romance_ someday,” Steve said, almost wistfully, “with someone. But it all has its ups and downs. Every relationship does. Even ours.”

“Ew, the ‘R’ word,” Tony said, sticking out his tongue mockingly. He turned to his workbench, looking away from Steve and instead focusing on reorganizing his tools as he spoke. “Funny word for the kid who steals my juice box, stomps on my toys, and still gives me shit about who’s team captain on the playground.” Under the guise of straightening his papers, Tony knocked the envelope corner underneath the rest of the pile, out of sight for the time being.

“You’re my best friend, too, Tony,” Steve said, cracking a full smile now. Tony turned to stare at him.

“Oh, come on, would I ever even imply something so cheesy?” Tony said, protesting too much and too loudly, but it only made Steve’s smile widen. “God, you’re such a sap, Rogers, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“That’s the same question I ask myself every day when I’m around you, Stark.”

“Must be my charm. My raw sex appeal.”

“Or maybe it’s because you pay the rent.”

Tony laughed then, and Steve joined him.

Steve’s hand didn’t leave his as he pressed the ice back to the burn. Steve pulled the ice away, looking at the angry red burn pressed into Tony’s skin.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked, looking Tony in the eye. Tony felt the warmth of Steve’s hand on his and how it sunk into his skin next to the pain of his burn.

Tony nodded.

“I think so.”

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this story was a great challenge. I enjoyed exploring the soulbonding trope, and I hope I've written an entertaining story. 
> 
> If anyone is interested in why I wrote this fic, I've written a post about it [on my tumblr](http://sarriane.tumblr.com/post/55990440452). (Edited 9/6/2014 to add: I've gotten a lot of interesting comments on the topic of soulbonding in fanfic since I posted this story, and my own opinion has changed somewhat from this post -- just like fandom's expression of this trope has changed in the past year. I see much more platonic/poly soulmates, and I think it's super creative what people have come up with! I especially enjoy the stories that face the idea that finding a "soulmate" doesn't fix all of life's problems. I don't have any plans at this time to follow up on this fic or post any more about soulmates.)
> 
> I've also posted [an alternate ending/post-credits sequence on my tumblr](http://sarriane.tumblr.com/post/55990447703). I call it "the fun ending." I'm not sure anyone would agree with me.


End file.
